


Part of the Union

by alby_mangroves, GlassRose



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Art, Best Friends, Big Bang Challenge, Big feelings, Everyone is Queer, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Illustrated, guess who gets THERAPY, not a lot of burning right away, slow burn?, stolen art, the ten year mission, to get these kids to smooch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 46,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29557737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/pseuds/alby_mangroves, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassRose/pseuds/GlassRose
Summary: Nile checked her gun. "How long does it take to get used to all the blood and guts?"Booker laughed. "You ever seen Joe or Nicky when the other one's leaking badly?""So, forever.""I can only say that I'm not used to it yet." He looked down at himself. "But if it's mine, it's not as bad.""Is that why you jumped on the grenade?""I don't know. I saw it, I went for it. If I weren't immortal I would be dead many times over. I'm not a fancy fighter." He took a peek and got grazed on the side of his head. "Ow. Fuck. How are you handling the transition?""It's weird," she said truthfully. "Everyone's a million years older than me.""Yeah," he said with a horribly insincere grin as blood trickled down the side of his face. "And they'll never really get it. Quynh was a hundred by the time Andy found her. Joe and Nicky died together. And then there's us."Everyone else is very old and paired off, so Nile decides her cohort needs to unionize. Any good union comes with benefits, even it takes you both ten years to be ready for all of them.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman
Comments: 92
Kudos: 183
Collections: The Old Guard Big Bang





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for The Old Guard Big Bang 2021. It's my first Big Bang, and I partnered with an AWESOME artist, alby_mangroves, who drew four beautiful illustrations. You can see them in chapters 3, 5, 9, and 14.
> 
> Thank you BB mods for running this! The organization is impeccable.
> 
> Title taken from a Strawbs song.
> 
> Content notes:  
> -The graphic violence isn't a lot more than is depicted in the movie, but there are a lot of injuries about as bad or a bit worse than when Booker got grenaded. They heal quick, so in order to make them suffer, I have to hurt them pretty bad.  
> -Explicit sex is only in the final chapter.  
> -I wrote the chapter titles to help me outline the fic, and I thought they were funny so I kept them.

2020.

She was a child—well, no, she was a grown woman, but she was a tenth of his age, young even for a mortal, and he felt like a huge creep for even wondering if she was supposed to be his like Joe was Nicky's and Quynh had once been Andy's.

"She stabbed me, so I think she has potential," Andy said on the phone, and he liked that and he hated everything about it.

Why now? Why now, after he'd already set things in motion?

He hadn't seen half a nametag in his head. He'd seen her, head to toe, full nametag, cornrows, body armor. Had felt the knife rip through his own throat as it happened to her. Let himself cry for her pain, just for a minute, when he next found a bathroom and a place to hide from Joe and Nicky.

Jesus. It was too late to turn back, but at least the deal was just the samples. Or him, if needed. She was still a kid. As a mortal, if she hadn't been killed, she might have lived another seventy or eighty years. He didn't want her to be involved.

The attack on the church caught him by surprise. Yeah, he'd told Copley where they were, but he didn't know they were going to get ambushed. He really wasn't expecting to take a grenade to the gut. So the game had changed. Fuck. Okay.

Okay. That was fine. The scientists needed all of them. Okay. Okay. They were old, they were immortal, they could survive anything. They could help people. And maybe...maybe they could have the choice. He was just so tired of life.

Except she wasn't, she was new and confused and scared and brave and staring at him as he healed. "It's not always like this now," he said, looking down at his insides. "Big wounds take longer to heal."

"Sure," she said skeptically.

He didn't want her to hate him. It was stupid, maybe, because if this worked, he wouldn't have to worry about anything at all. He could just rest.

But he didn't want her to hate him and he didn't want her to suffer like he had, so he told her about his family. He couldn't turn back now, but he wished he could keep her out of it.

He got his wish when she cut and ran before they went to Copley's. Thank god. Run and hide and stay away from us, he thought. Just stay away.

The thought that he'd abandoned her to a worse, more lonely existence than his would haunt him forever, but it was too late.

"No man left behind," she said, and god, she was so naïve and good. He didn't deserve to even look at her.

But Andy wanted him up, Andy wanted him with her, and Andy was in real danger. Andromache the Scythian dying on Merrick's terms was a horrible, horrible thought, and worse, Booker had been the one to put a bullet through her. He still loved Andy, he loved his family, he had to get the women safe, he had to make up for the torture he'd put the boys through, he had to, so he stood up. He put himself between Andy and a lot of bullets. He dragged her out of the blown up room. He followed Nicky to the penthouse. He pulled Nile out of the smashed car, ducking down because she was a bit shorter, because she was hurt. He held her up as she healed and he loved her already.


	2. the one where booker gets exploded and Quynh runs away

2021\. Eight months after Nile's first death.

Booker was very dead, grotesquely so. This was worse than the time he'd caught a grenade in the church rectory. Nile put a bullet in the head of the last two security forces people and dropped down beside him to wait it out, taking a deep breath. She wondered when she'd get used to seeing her family like this. Her phone buzzed, and she picked up. "I'm okay," she said before Joe even asked. "Booker's here though, he's pretty bad off. I'll watch him until he's up, then I'll meet you."

"What the hell is he doing there?"

"I don't know. He jumped on a grenade for me, it's bad. I'm all right though. Meet you as soon as I can." She hung up and surveyed Booker. His entire torso was ripped open and riddled with shrapnel. There was a huge gash across his face, cutting through his mouth, nose, and left eye, and it hurt to look at. He was young, he would be fine, but he was family, and it hurt to see any of them like that. She offered a brief prayer that she would not be sick and he would be okay, braced herself, and started picking out the shrapnel. It squelched. After a minute, Booker gasped back to life and cried out in agony, gritting his teeth. His mouth was bloodied and slashed open, but he still managed to swear in French and reach blindly for something to hold, which ended up being Nile's hand.

"Is it bad?" he grunted, trembling in pain and squeezing her hand much too hard.

"Yeah," she said.

"Nile," he gasped. "Did you—did it—" He yelled and she put a hand on his cheek as his face knit itself back together. "Did you get hurt?" he finally managed.

"I'm fine," she said. "Why did you do that? I could have handled it!"

His guts were starting to regenerate now, and he let out a strangled, agonized laugh, which Nile didn't think was in reaction to what she'd said so much as his way of dealing with the pain, but he squeezed her hand until it bruised and then exhaled hard, breathing as his body healed.

His eye was still fucked up but he sat up, most of his torso repaired. "Where's everyone else?"

She raised an eyebrow. He let her hand go. "I'm not trying to get around the, the—"

"Time-out?"

He cracked a small smile. "Sure."

"You following us?"

"No, Quynh's here. We didn't know you were coming. I saw you come in here alone, and I saw seven men follow you, so I came to help." He blinked rapidly, but his eye was still leaking fluid. "Eyes are the worst."

"Are they?"

"Well, maybe you won't have to find out," he said, standing up.

"I need to—"

A horrible cracking sound rent the air. They both looked up, but Booker moved faster, lifting Nile bodily out of the way of the falling ceiling and shielding her as bricks and cinder blocks buried them. He was trying to brace himself, but the building falling on them won out and Nile ended up smushed under a pile of wall and crushed Frenchman. Was that her ribs cracking?

She coughed dust out as the collapse ended. "Booker?" she choked. "Why do you keep doing this?"

She got only a groan in response, but after a minute, he pushed himself up so she could slither out and pull blocks off of him.

"You okay?"

"Still alive," he said.

She shoved a piece of concrete away from him. "You know I can take care of myself, right?"

"I'm not—ow. I'm not trying to be chivalrous." He crawled out from under the last of the rubble. "I didn't want to be the one sitting there waiting for you to grow back together, all right? I'm selfish."

"How long have you spoken English? I don't think that's the word you're after."

He smiled crookedly.

She dragged him upright. "Let's go, we need to check on the others. And if someone tries to shoot me, don't jump in front of it this time."

"Yeah. Yeah. Sorry."

He was true to his word, though. When Nile went first around the corner to the room opposite the entrance, she heard a brief whistle and the world went black. She jerked awake with the world shaking up and down and she nearly fought the arms holding her but dust billowed around them and the moment she got her bearings, Booker was carrying her out what was left of the front door as the rest of the building went down. He grunted in pain as something thudded into his chest, and he dropped behind a chunk of concrete, letting her go. "You got sniped," he said before she could ask. Blood poured from his chest wound but he gritted his teeth and waited for it to heal. "I think we're pinned down." He popped his head over the barrier to check and instantly had his brains blown out. His body dropped, and Nile swallowed back bile. His dark blue eyes were wide and empty. Honestly, fuck this. If he was still suicidal or if this was his way of atoning, Nile hated it. Still, he was a person in pain, so she put a hand on his shoulder while she retrieved her phone. Somehow it was still alive, with a dozen missed calls. She called back.

"What happened?" Joe demanded.

"Building went down. We're out, but we're pinned. There's a sniper, I think 10 o'clock from the entrance. We're right out front. Quynh's here, I don't know why, and I haven't seen her yet."

Booker opened his eyes and breathed. Nile patted his shoulder.

"We're coming. Stay down unless you see an opening." Joe hung up.

Booker automatically put his hand on hers, blinked, let go, and sat up. "I miss anything?"

"The others are coming. We hold."

"Great."

"Why are you and Quynh here?"

"Same reason you are, I assume. The drives."

"Oh."

"She's, uh." He winced and rubbed the bloody spot on his forehead. "I don't know if she's always been like this, but she's not very stable."

"Is she dangerous?"

"Yeah."

"To Andy?"

"No. Well...I don't know. She knows Andy's stopped healing, she wouldn't hurt her."

Nile raised her eyebrows. "You said it yourself, she's not stable. Five hundred years drowning in a box, you don't know what she'll do."

"Joe and Nicky won't let Andy get hurt." He sighed. "Text Joe."

"Yeah, I think I will," she said pointedly. _Booker says Quynh is unstable, keep Andy safe._

He replied with a thumbs up in seconds. Nile popped her head up and ducked quickly. A shot whizzed above her head. "Damn it. I can't see anything."

"I can go out first and you make a run for it."

"Then you're stuck out there getting shot until someone takes him out. Also, he has a semi-automatic. Some of the shots are too close together."

"Ah. You're right."

"Wait. Has the sniper noticed he's been killing the same two people?"

"Don't know. That's why they're going to kill him."

"Great." Nile rested against the concrete and checked her gun. Booker followed suit, and she asked, "How long does it take to get used to all the blood and guts?"

Booker laughed. "You ever seen Joe or Nicky when the other one's leaking badly?"

"So, forever."

"I can only say that I'm not used to it yet." He looked down at himself. "But if it's mine, it's not as bad."

"Is that why you jumped on the grenade?"

"I don't know. I saw it, I went for it. If I weren't immortal I would be dead many times over. I'm not a fancy fighter." He took a peek and got grazed on the side of his head. "Ow. Fuck. How are you handling the transition?"

"It's weird," she said truthfully. "Everyone's a million years older than me."

"Yeah," he said with a grin as blood trickled down the side of his face. "And they'll never really get it. Quynh was a hundred by the time Andy found her. Joe and Nicky died together. And then there's us." His smiles were never quite right. They were lopsided, or sarcastic, or, usually, just sad.

"Us, the babies."

He raised his eyebrows with a half-smile, like he always did to acknowledge when someone was right.

"Except you had a whole family and I didn't even hit thirty."

"Yeah, you got lucky."

"Maybe." She hadn't lived Booker's life, but her brother was alive and she missed him.

"I only meant," he said, "Joe and Nicky weren't married with kids, and they're nine hundred years old and they're still happy."

"And the rest of us need Xanax for gay summer weddings," she said, which, if any of the family was going to get it, it would be Booker.

He didn't. "What?"

"Saturday Night Live sketch. Never mind."

"I'm, you know. I'm glad they have each other. I wouldn't care if they were more affectionate in front of us." He shook his head. "If they are—will be, when… Where the hell are they?" He peeked out to see if he could get a sense of the direction, but a slug instantly punched straight through his collarbone and Nile caught him as he fell. Blood bubbled out of his lips and his breath came in horrible choking gasps.

"Stop doing that! Do you want to die?" She grabbed his flailing hand and held it until it went limp, and then a little bit longer as his body fixed itself and he opened his eyes.

He rolled over and spat out blood. "Sorry."

"We are holding," she ordered. "Not seeing how many times we can get shot to death. Okay?"

"Sure, boss," he said.

"I'm not Andy."

"I know." He examined the remains of his clothing. "I should've packed an extra shirt."

"And pants. It's like we're Luke Cage up in here."

Booker half-smiled. "Should I get that?"

"Comic book dude. Bullets can't penetrate his skin, but they fuck up his clothes."

"Ah," Booker said. "And now it's you."

"I guess. The bullets still hurt, though." Nile touched the bloody ex-wound on her head, and then her neck, where she'd first been torn open, her breath taken.

"I have to think," he said, "that we need it. The pain. Or we go crazy. Turn into monsters."

"Pain can make you crazy."

He let out a small pained laugh. "But living for thousands of years without hurting? Imagine what that could do to a person."

Nile rolled her eyes. "You're not a monster. Or crazy."

"No. No. My bad choices are just my bad choices." He fidgeted and moved to take another look but Nile smacked his arm.

"How did you even survive being in the military?"

He snorted. "I didn't."

Another shot rang out, but it sounded different from the sniper's. "No," Nile ordered. "We are waiting for Joe to call."

"I didn't move!"

"You were thinking about it."

He huffed and it was so French she almost laughed at him. Joe called then and gave them the all clear, so they made their way across the campus to the sniper's nest.

"Fuck, you weren't kidding when you said it was bad," Joe commented, taking in the blood-soaked not-even-a-crop-top mess of Booker's shirt. "What are you doing here?"

"Came for the drives, same as you," Booker said. "Quynh got it in her head. I followed."

"Well, that went to shit," Andy sighed. "Is she here?" Her tone was calm as ever, but Nile knew she was having a mess of feelings about her wife.

"She's here, but I don't know where she went. Is anyone left in the compound?"

"We cleared three buildings," Andy said, pointing them out. "And that one exploded, clearly."

"Yeah, on us," Nile added.

"The sniper had a detonator."

Something thudded into the concrete by Nile's head and the five of them immediately drew weapons—except Booker, who was out of guns—on the newcomer.

"I got to them first," Quynh said, and Nile couldn't breathe.

She was _here_. She was here and she was alive and above sea level and talking and breathing and she was okay, she was real, and the dreams would stop now. "Hi," Nile said, the first dumbfuck thing that came into her head.

"Nile," Quynh said. She had a crossbow pointed at Andy. "I remember your death."

"I'm glad you're okay," Nile said, for want of anything better.

Booker eased into the space between Andy and Quynh. "I know you're angry, but you can't take it back. Not anymore."

"Quynh," Andy said, her voice unsteady. "Quynh, I'm sorry."

Quynh screamed in rage, jerked her aim to the side and shot Nile in the shoulder.

"Son of a bitch!" Nile shouted as she fell on her ass. That damn thing packed a punch.

"No!" Booker yelled and someone's hands were on her, tearing the bolt free.

Quynh was gone by the time Nile's shoulder healed, and Booker followed her. It was Nicky who had removed the bolt and who helped her up. "Andy?" Nile asked.

Andy stared into the dark, but her mouth quirked up at the corner. "She's free. She wants to see me."

Joe put an arm around her.

"Quynh got the drives," Nicky said, "but we need to make sure the security station is destroyed. Cameras. Nile?"

"Yeah, I'm with you. Let's move."

They cleared the last building—it was empty anyway—and wiped the servers, destroying them permanently after clearing them. Quynh and Booker were long gone by the time the rest of them got back to their car.


	3. nile loses her head

2021\. Four months later. The Netherlands

She shouldn't have gone it alone, but it seemed like a quick job. Andy was off on her own without explanations, Joe and Nicky were in a different country, Booker was obviously still in time out, and the gig was time sensitive. "Just tell me everything," she ordered Copley, who was hesitant to send her alone, but gave her what she needed after some convincing.

So that was how she ended up stealing the flash drive full of evidence and not exactly making it out as smoothly. She got out of the warehouse office door and hurried down the hallway. The place was an OSHA nightmare (or whatever the Dutch equivalent was) and water drips and splashes echoed everywhere. She had almost made it out of the back room area when she heard a swish and a sharp, strange pain raced down her side to her upper thigh. It didn't make sense. She couldn't make sense of it. She couldn't walk. Couldn't move. Couldn't…

A similarly strange pressure on her neck and the world went dark.

She woke. She could barely see. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't feel. _God, help me._ She blacked out again.

A loud bang. "No, no, no, no, Nile, no." A voice she knew?

Blackness.

Pain again. "I'm coming, I'm so sorry."

Darkness.

Then her head was cradled gently in someone's hands. Lightning raced up and down her side. She was helpless. She was terrified. Her neck hurt and nothing moved. Her lungs were...disconnected? She tried to breathe, but nothing happened. Pain. Terror.

"Nile! You with me?"

She tried to make a sound, but her voice wouldn't respond.

"Don't move. Stay still. Just give it a minute."

It was Booker's voice. Booker's face above her.

She wasn't alone. She was safe.

Her breath returned, and the pain in her side receded, at which point she was able to piece together what had happened. "Did I just get beheaded?" she croaked.

"Yeah, and slightly...dismembered."

"Oh my god. Oh my god. No."

"You're okay. You're safe."

She sat up, his hands supporting her head and back. In theory, she knew what horrific things could be done to them. In practice, this was new, and she really, really hated it.

"Nile," he said, and she didn't know who initiated it but she was clinging to him and he had an arm around her waist, the other hand rubbing her back, firm strokes up and down and she knew she was getting blood all over him but it was all too much and she hated everything.

"We need to get out of here," he said.

"I'm fine," she lied pointlessly.

"Yeah, we're all fine," he said dryly, standing up and bringing her with him. "Can you walk?"

She stumbled but stayed on her feet. She could see now where she'd been cut in half: there was a huge bloody slash from the inside of her upper thigh to halfway up her torso. He'd cut off her leg and hip. The drive was still in her pocket, somehow. There was a body behind them, a man with a huge two-handed sword next to him. Booker handed her her gun and she followed him out of the warehouse, holding up her pants leg, slipping back into mission mode, clearing emotion away until they were out. The house was probably burned at this point, so they drove to the next city, ditched the car, and walked to a safe house in a mostly unfinished building. On the way, Booker explained that Copley had called him, worried about sending one person on a mission.

Nile was a little bit irritated about it, but mostly grateful, especially after Booker told her that Andy had explained how beheadings usually resolved without someone to help: the neck grew nerves and muscles long enough to reach the body, or, when that failed due to distance, or if the body was destroyed, a new body would be grown from the neck. It took days and it was excruciating.

She was relieved he had come for her, in that case. She showered the blood off while he looked through the cabinets. Joe didn't appear to have left products in this safe house, but her hair was covered in blood, so she rinsed everything out as best she could.

Booker had changed by the time she got out of the shower and into Andy's old clothes. God bless sports bras; they'd already figured out they couldn't share underwire ones. She texted Joe to let him know she'd moved and she was fine, but he didn't reply.

"I made you dinner," Booker said, "but I should go."

"I don't see anyone else here," she said, because she wasn't the one who had issues with him, and because she didn't want to be alone after getting dismembered an hour ago.

"That's not really the point of it," he said.

"First, yes it is the point, you think Nicky and Joe are punishing you? They're just freaked out. And second, I just got my entire head cut off, so I think I get to ask you to stay. Please."

He was easy. "Okay. All right. Yeah."

They ate spaghetti—the canned sauce was still in date somehow—and Nile remembered her attacker.

"What kind of weirdo hauls around a giant sword at his security guard job?"

Booker nodded. "Yeah, you run into those types sometimes. They like violence and they want to feel special. And working for some rich bastard gives them carte blanche to kill however they want. He'd probably be pissed to die getting shot in the head."

"Too mundane?"

"Mm."

"So how's Quynh?"

"Uh." Booker sighed. "Not good. I don't know what to do with her. I don't know what she'll wake up wanting each day. I want to help her, but I don't know where to start." He contemplated his glass of water—no one had stashed wine here lately, apparently—and sighed. "I thought it would be better than being alone, but I'm in way over my head with her."

"Bring her to us?" Nile suggested.

"I can't make her do anything. Last time we ran into Andy she got really angry. I don't know that anyone could survive five hundred years underwater without losing her mind, but I don't know what to do."

"You all need so much therapy. Maybe not Joe and Nicky. The rest of you."

"Yeah, that'll be great. 'Hey, remember when Napoleon invaded Russia in the winter? I do. I died. A lot. Now I'm eternally forty-two, still want me on your couch?'"

"It's not like no regular people know about us. There's Copley."

"That ended well."

"We got out."

"We got lucky. _I_ got lucky you showed up when you did. And left when you did. And came back." Booker put his head in his hands. "I didn't count on you."

It was funny how small he made himself look despite being the biggest one in the family, taller and broader than Joe. But Joe's big feelings were happiness, anger, joy, love. Booker was just desperately depressed. He looked like he wanted to disappear half the time. "Next time you will," she tried.

He looked up. "There won't be a next time."

"I'm just teas—I mean you can count on me."

"You uh." He frowned. "You don't have to be nice to me."

Oh, for god's sake. "I don't have a problem with you."

"Really?"

"Really."

"But…"

"What?"

"'Hi, welcome to immortality, here's your new family, one of them is a goddamn suicidal Judas,' you're okay with that?"

"No, but it's not really my problem."

"But it is. You came and rescued us."

"Look," she said. "Whatever was going on with you obviously predated me so I don't have to feel like I failed you or missed something like they do."

"That's not fair, they didn't miss—"

"And the worst thing that happened to me was getting smashed into that car and now I get to make fun of all of you for the rest of eternity for promising to protect me and then me having to bail you guys out." Nile would've been okay if Booker hadn't helped her out of the wrecked car, but since he had, she had a probably fully unearned association with him and healing, safety. And of course now he really had rescued her and gotten her healed quickly from a much worse situation, so he shouldn't find it confusing that she didn't hate him. Logically she could see how her feelings were clouding her sense. On the other hand, logic wasn't everything. He was a messy guy; didn't mean he was still dangerous to his family. Fuck it, she was just going to ask. "Are you still trying to die?"

"No. I would like the option, but…I don't want to throw it away anymore."

"Great. Then you and me are good." She looked at him. His eyes were so full. He looked lost. "What changed?" she asked.

He looked away. "I don't know. Everything." He picked at his fingernails. "Andy. You." He looked back at her briefly and dropped his gaze, like he didn't have the right. "Realizing I don't have a choice and leaning into the void isn't going to change that. I'm not, uh." He closed his eyes for a few seconds. "I'm not good." Then he opened his eyes and grimaced. "But that—that's not for you to worry about."

"Okay," she said. She wasn't a therapist, just a friend. She could take his word for it.

He shooed her to bed and washed the dishes himself, but she couldn't sleep. Her first death played in her head over and over, and she imagined her body trying to heal itself alone, her head away from her body, still alive, still awake.

She gave up, finally, and went back into the main room where Booker was sitting on the couch and drinking from his little flask. He looked up. "You all right?"

Nile shook her head. "Can't sleep."

"Yeah." He offered her the flask.

She wasn't a big drinker, but she took it and had a gulp anyway. It burned, making her cough. "Wow. That's gross."

"Yeah. But it helps."

"Yeah, maybe." She gave it back and sat down, rubbing her neck. How fragile they all were, despite their ability. How much more danger they were in. Most people would just die, but they could suffer horrific torture. Like Quynh. It was hard to feel real. Hard to feel like she was really here, safe, when she could be having death hallucinations while her head was rolling across the floor in that warehouse. "This ever happen to you?"

"Yeah, once. Andy had me back together pretty quick though."

"I don't feel real," Nile said. "I mean, that's stupid, I know, it's just…"

"Yeah. What do you need?"

It was weird to ask, but their whole lives were weird, and he had offered, and she had just been beheaded, and she was going to. "Uh, can you—" Nile stopped, her throat aching. Speaking was hard, so she just took his hand and placed it on the side of her neck. He didn't laugh. He just left it there, grounding her with the warmth and weight and life of another person's touch. She wasn't in pieces, she was safe, and she wasn't alone.

When she woke on the couch in the morning, there was a blanket spread over her. There was a knock on the door and Joe's voice called, "Hey, it's us."

"Coming." She stumbled upright and opened the door for them.

"What happened?" Joe asked as they shut the door.

"Oh, you know. Tried to do a mission myself, I was successful but I also got my head cut off, which sucked." She had to talk about it lightly, because this was her life now.

"Alone?" Nicky demanded, his eyes bugging out.

"Well, Copley called me backup because he didn't think I could handle it, which I can't be mad about because he was right. But I'm fine now." For a given value of "fine."

"What backup?"

"Don't be mad, okay?" Like the day wasn't stressful enough.

Joe looked alarmed. "Mad because we're exposed or because it's Booker?"

"The second one."

"Then I am just glad you weren't alone," Nicky said, which was a relief.

Booker slipped out of the bedroom, said, "Sorry," to Joe and Nicky, and headed for the door.

"Thank you," Nile called to him. "For everything."

"Yeah," he said, and he left.

She touched her neck. Joe wrapped her up in a warm hug, and she cried.


	4. booker's trip to the moon

2022\. Six months later. Kiel, Germany

The text just said "help" and phone calls went straight to voicemail. They hadn't texted before, so it was an unsettling first message sitting all alone on her texting app. "He said Quynh was having trouble with reality," Nile said. "We can't leave him."

"'Help' could mean anything," Nicky said slowly.

"This hundred years is turning out to be absolutely nothing at all," Joe said. "You keep doing missions with him."

"I'm going to find him if you won't," Nile said stubbornly.

"We're going to help, Nile," Andy said. "He's family. But if they want to talk to you about the fact that you keep managing to run into him—"

"While he's on the time-out step, I know. You can yell at me later. I'm calling Copley."

It took two days to find him. They traced Quynh and Booker's trail through three flats to a cargo boat that appeared to be empty. Andy and Nicky stayed on the upper deck as lookouts while Joe and Nile looked through the hold. Most rooms were empty, but the last one at the end of the hall was shut with a shallow layer of water on the floor. "Bilge?" Joe wondered, but it wasn't too gross. He raised his flashlight to illuminate a familiar body curled up in the far corner, and Nile ran to him.

"Booker? Wake up. Hey. It's us."

He wasn't asleep. He was chained to the wall, an IV line in his left arm. "We didn't...replace you…" he muttered in French, staring at nothing. At least Nile kind of knew French.

"Book?" Joe said, bending down.

"It's...wet…"

"Shit. Booker. Hey. We're here."

"He's drugged out of his mind," Nile said, pulling out her multi-tool to crack open the manacles. Together they were able to unlock them in a minute, and then Joe looked at the IV.

"Healed. This is going to hurt."

"Hopefully he's too drugged to notice," Nile said as Booker finally looked at her. "Hold his arm, I'll get it."

Joe nodded, and Nile tugged gently on the line to see how stuck it was. He let out a soft, whiny, "Huh?" so she said, "Sorry, Booker," and yanked the line out.

"Ow," he complained in a very high, sleepy tone as blood gushed briefly from his arm. He noticed his hands were free and stared at them, and then at Joe.

"Come on," Joe said. "Get up, let's get you out of here."

"Where's...here?"

"A boat," Nile said as they each took a hand and pulled him to his feet. He could walk, which made Nile think he was under the influence of some intense hallucinogen and not a sedative, but he wove back and forth until she said, "Hey, can you see me?"

His pupils were huge. He stared at her and then touched her face. "Libellules," he murmured. Dragonflies?

"Okay. Just stay close, all right? Follow me. Stay right behind me." She started to push his hand away but changed her mind and set it on her shoulder. In other circumstances, Booker tripping face would probably be funny. Not so much right now. He kept his hand on her shoulder as they followed Joe back up, guns out. Quynh could be anywhere, if she was the one who did this. If not...someone else.

They made it to the stairs without incident, though poor Booker tripped and face-planted into them. "Where?" he pleaded, his hands reaching for nothing until Nile grabbed one.

"Here. Come on."

"I can't find the world," he said, but he was back to English. Small mercies.

"Don't worry about that. Just find me. Up."

"You can take point," Joe suggested.

Nile helped Booker up. "I got it. You first this time."

Joe guarded their ascent as Nile got Booker up the stairs. He banged his shins and crawled a little bit but he held tight to Nile's hand and they made it up to the main inside deck where the sun shone through windows on all sides. Nicky and Andy lowered their guns. "What's wrong with him?" Nicky asked.

"Drugs," Nile answered. "Hallucinogen, I think."

"Booker," Andy said, but he was engrossed in Nile's hand, turning it over to stare at it. "Hey." She holstered her gun and took his face in her hands. "Who did this to you?"

Forced to look at her, his eyes widened, then he looked down and took her pendant between his thumb and forefinger.

"Shit," she said. "Let's get the hell out of here. Move."

They obeyed the command, Nicky taking point and Nile holding onto Booker.

"So," a new voice said as they reached the open door, and Booker whispered no no no no no. "How long does it take you to rescue the one that matters? Two days, and he only died, let's see, how many times, Booker? Three times? Or maybe," she said, coming into the light, "maybe it's that the three of you are weak and disloyal. Funny thing, this one, this broken mess betrays you all, and yet, he's in pain and you find him right away."

"Quynh," Nicky said, "we searched—"

"I SUFFERED!" she screamed, raising a crossbow. "I waited for you! For so long I thought you would come for Andromache, and then she would save me. You've drowned before, Nicolò. Should I remind you what it feels like? Booker remembers. Or he will, once that wears off. "

"Come home with us," Joe said. "Please."

"Stop," Booker mumbled. "Please."

Andy hadn't said a word.

"Andromache," Quynh said coolly, aiming for her heart. "They've never cared for anyone as much as each other, but you? You left me."

The other three raised their weapons and Quynh hissed. "You can't kill me, but I can kill her first. Lower them."

"It's okay," Andy said, and Nile lowered her gun. Joe and Nicky followed suit, watching carefully. "If it's you, it's okay."

"Andy, no," Joe protested.

"Don't hold it against her," Andy said, smiling. "I don't want you to be alone, Quynh."

Then several things happened very quickly. A man's voice said, "Andromache!" Andy turned, said, "Motherfu—" and got shot in the chest. Quynh screamed and put a bolt in the throat of the shooter.

"No! No! No! Andromache!" she shrieked, falling to her knees as Nicky and Joe tried to put pressure on Andy's chest. "No! You don't get to leave me!"

Booker whispered, "Andy? Andy?" to Nile and she tried to get him to let go of her hand but he wouldn't, and this was wrong, this was all wrong, Andy couldn't just leave them, not like this. "This isn't real, this isn't real," he muttered.

"It's real!" she snapped, and Andy was gasping and her eyes fluttered shut and oh god, oh god. She was dead.

Quynh wailed and beat her fists on Andy's chest. "Come back! Come back, you don't get to do this! You can't!"

"Quynh," Nicky said, putting a hand on her back. His jaw was set. "Please, just—"

"Don't you tell me! Don't tell me how to react!"

"I wasn't—"

"Why don't we kill him! Huh?" She flung her hand out and pointed at Joe, who was openly weeping. "You will not be so calm!"

Nile was numb, frozen. It was like the world had thrown her out into space. She could see it move, but she wasn't connected to it anymore.

Except for one point of her body, her hand, held tight by Booker, who was staring at Andy's body, silent tears streaming down his face.

"Andromache," Quynh said, eerily calm now. "You are selfish to leave me again." She rested her head in the puddle of blood on Andy's chest. "My beloved." Her fingers drew aimless bloody patterns as Nicky went to Joe and held him.

And then.

Andy's eyes opened. Her chest rose sharply as she breathed in.

"Andy?" Nile gasped.

Quynh jerked up. "You weren't healing!"

"It's back?" Andy said, confused, and Quynh dragged her up and clutched at her, blood soaking both of them.

"Never do that to me again," she ordered. "Never."

"I'm...I'm seeing things," Booker said. "Help me."

Nile looked up at him. "She's back. She's healing again. That's real."

Joe and Nicky caught Andy around the back in a big hug, and for a second Nile could see the old group. Two loving couples, broken by witch hunts, shaken up by a depressed alcoholic petty criminal with feelings as big as any of them. And then there was her.

But Quynh was back, and Andy was alive, and—

"Who just shot you?" Nile asked before she could formulate an appropriate "Congratulations on your reacquired immortality" sentence.

Andy dropped her head down onto Quynh's shoulder. "Long story. We should get out of here before Booker falls overboard."

"Or before someone investigates the gunshot," Nile said.

"Come home with me," Andy said. "Please."

"I hate you," Quynh said, getting up. But she extended her hand to Andy.

Nicky ripped the bolt out of the man's throat and he and Joe tied a heavy loose pipe to him, then lowered him into the water.

"We should skip town," Nile commented, but they were covered in blood and went back to the safe house first. "And we need a mini-van," she remarked as they wedged themselves into a sedan. Nicky and Joe tried to squeeze themselves together, but Nile ended up on Booker's lap, because she was the smallest besides Quynh, and Booker was just barely tolerating Quynh in the same car right now.

Nicky volunteered to sit on Joe's lap instead, but Booker had his face pressed against Nile's shoulder and if he was good, she wasn't going to switch things up on him again. "What did you give him, anyway?" she asked Quynh.

"I don't know," she said. "Who cares? It will wear off someday."

"He can barely see what's happening in front of his face!" Nile complained. She was tired. It had been an exhausting few days. Andy hit a pothole and Nile bounced, hitting her head on the ceiling. "Ow! Shit."

Booker muttered, "Seatbelt," and let go of her hand to put his arms around her waist, surprisingly securely for a guy who was drugged to the gills.

This relationship she had with a two hundred-fifty year old was—hmm. She didn't know what it was. He could be treating her like a little sister, but he didn't, not really. Fuck. She was too tired to think about it. She should just be grateful that she didn't go flying at the next pothole.

She was grateful. She was also sleepy and overwhelmed and needed space to work through everything, which wasn't likely to happen with Quynh and drugged Booker around. Half an hour just with Nicky, now that would be nice. Even the pair of them. That would help.

Hugging Andy and seeing she was real and there would help too, but Nile had the feeling that Quynh was going to be circling her like an angry cat and not let anyone near her.

How the hell were any of them supposed to relax with her around after what she did to Booker? But that wasn't fair. Nile had gotten a taste of Quynh's hellish torture. She needed help. She needed love. She needed a big fat dose of therapy, just like Andy and Booker did.

Nile missed her mom. She wondered what her mom would say if she saw her sitting on the lap of a middle-aged white French guy. A middle-aged white French guy tripping his face off on some unknown psychedelic. First the eyebrow raise, then the resigned "Okay, your life" look. No, it would be her brother who would laugh at her. The tableau was good, even if it didn't mean what it looked like it meant.

They made it home. Joe and Nicky shielded a bloody Andy and Quynh from prying eyes, and Nile parked the car with Booker staring at his hands in the backseat. By the time they made it into the flat, Andy and Quynh were in the shower and Nicky had pulled ingredients out to cook something.

"Are we sure she should be alone with Andy?" Nile asked.

"I'm not sure of anything," Joe said.

"We know even less than we thought we did," Nicky added.

"Booker's going to be thrilled about _that_ when he's lucid again. And speaking of that." Joe took Booker's hand and pulled him into a bedroom.

Nile leaned against the counter. "Need me to chop anything?"

He handed her two squashes. "Courgettes."

"Sure."

"Are you all right?" he asked as he started dicing an onion.

"I guess," she said. "I thought I would be happy to have her home, but...and Andy was dead, and—" She shook her head. "It's a lot."

"I agree," Nicky said, and he wasn't just humoring her.

"What about Booker, though?" Would they let him stay? Would he even want to stay with Quynh around? "Hasn't quite been a hundred years."

"I don't know."

Yeah. So he was nine hundred-some. He felt deeply and he was careful with his heart. Nile understood. It wasn't about punishment, never had been. It was about getting space between them. It was about him and Joe getting to breathe and deal with their pain alone, without having to look at him every day. It was about giving Booker the space to work on himself without support, which Nile wasn't convinced was the best option, but she understood why Nicky and Joe thought so.

Maybe she was being selfish. Nicky and Joe were wonderful, affectionate, giving people. They were also utterly devoted to each other, and even though they shared everything they could with her, the moments she stole with Booker were different. He was a lot more like Nile, he understood her, he wanted her to like him, and his presence was comforting to her. So maybe it was all random, but Nile couldn't help but think he was supposed to be hers. Probably not like that, not quite like Joe and Nicky or Andy and Quynh. But hers in some form. Like Troy and Abed or something.

She finished slicing up the squashes and Booker returned from the bedroom in dry clothes. Joe set him in a chair and got him a glass of water and a coffee table book of mushrooms to look at.

Nicky roasted a mess of vegetables and sauteed some chicken. Joe helped a little and sometimes wrapped himself around Nicky's back. Nile lay down on the couch and closed her eyes. She wanted to see Andy again, touch her, know she was real, but Andy and Quynh were holed up in the room together with the door locked. Lots to talk about, obviously.

Next thing she knew, Joe was gently shaking her awake. "Dinner's ready."

Yeah, she was hungry. She joined the rest of the family at the table. Quynh was there, and Nile was protective of Booker, but she was also just sad for the whole affair. Could any of them really judge her? Five hundred years of torture would madden anyone.

Booker was still in his chair, staring at the coffee table book. Joe brought him a plate.

"If I leave this chair," he said, "I will fly away."

"I know, Book," he said, and patted his shoulder. "This isn't nearly as fun as the MDMA incident," he commented as he sat back down at the table.

"Oh my god," Andy said. "I forgot about that."

Nile and Quynh looked at each other. "The what?" Nile asked.

Nicky shook his head. "It's hard to overdose, so sometimes we make mistakes in taking too much."

"And?"

"Just really adorable, enthusiastic declarations of love for all of us," Joe said, grinning. "Someone gave him a plush dolphin and he hugged it all night."

"I can hear you talking about me," Booker said, his voice almost sing-song.

"Do you remember trying to seduce the bartender?"

"He was very attractive," Booker said, and he turned the page. "I was just out of practice."

"He was, and you were," Nicky said, and Joe laughed.

"What happened to the dolphin?" Nile asked.

"I think it's gone—" Joe started, but Booker interrupted.

"Marseille safe house."

"You seem like you're doing better, Book," Andy said.

"I'm okay if I stay right here," he said very evenly.

"Do we have a rule about not drugging family members?" Nile asked. "Because if not, I would like to institute one. And maybe after dinner everyone who needs to apologize for something can do that."

"That's everyone but you," Quynh said. "Your time will come, though."

"No," Booker hummed. "She's perfect."

"Thank you," Nile said.

Quynh shook her head. "No one's perfect for thousands of years." Andy touched her hand.

"That is a good rule," Nicky said. "I think it was implied before, but we can now agree upon it outright."

"I won't drug him again," Quynh said. "Although clearly it is funny."

"I don't think it's funny," Booker said, his head down as he stared at the book. "You accused me of replacing you and then you stabbed me. Then you drowned me. Then you drugged me and drowned me again, and then you chained me up in a dark puddle all alone, and now I'm seeing patterns and Lisa Frank shit everywhere and you don't even know what you gave me or how long this will last. And my dolphin is in Marseille."

"Do you want me to bring you a stuffed animal, Book?" Joe asked.

"I thought you were still mad at me."

"I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed."

"That's worse," Booker and Nile said at the same time, and his eyes got very round as he looked for the source of the sound. "Did I…?"

"That was me."

"Oh."

He became absorbed in the book again, and they ate dinner fairly quietly.

"So, who was the guy who shot you?" Nile asked Andy as Nicky started clearing the table.

Andy sighed heavily. "Long, boring story. When we all split up earlier this year, I got made by a guy who said I killed his brother ten years ago. It's probably true. I don't know. I thought I shook him, but apparently not. I think he was working alone."

"Uh, should we move?" Nile suggested.

"I drove in circles enough," Andy said. "This place isn't burned."

"Andromache," Quynh said. "You are back with us, aren't you?"

"Of course I am," Andy said. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Quynh pulled a knife from her pocket and flipped it out. "Show me."

"Okay."

Nile winced as Andy cut her arm open. Blood oozed out, but it healed over quickly enough.

It was real. She was okay. _Why?_ Why did she lose her immortality only to regain it again? It didn't make sense. Nile sat on the arm of the couch, next to Booker's chair, and said, "I don't think they know any more than we do."

He slowly looked up at her. Tears were running down his face.

"Hey, you're safe," Nile said, because the one time she'd done acid, it had been fun some of the time and fucked up some of the time too, and no one had been kind enough to talk her down.

"I know," he said in that soft purr he sometimes had. "But…" He held out his book, which was open to a page of fungal colonies. Threads like a nervous system on a black background.

"Yeah, I get it," she said, trying not to laugh. "They're all connected."

He nodded.

"Hey, so are we," she added, taking his hand. Nothing like some good old human connection when psychedelics were involved, right?

It was funny; she kind of expected an old soldier—or thief-turned-soldier, whatever—pushing three hundred and well over six feet tall with a frame to match Thor's (minus the dehydration and lack of healthy padding) to have calluses, or harder, bigger, maybe hairier hands. Something. But he had an artist's fingers, reasonably proportionate, if on the small side of that, and sturdy, but pretty.

He was enthralled with her hand, letting go of his book to lift it and stare at it.

"Wow," she said. "You're like a college kid stereotype."

"I know," he sighed. "I'm just trying to get through it."

"Well, knock yourself out." Nile slid down onto the couch and let him examine her hand.

Booker kept it and scooted his chair closer to the couch so they didn't have to reach so far. It took him a minute to settle back into his chair and regain stability, but he managed it. "You don't have to babysit me," he said.

"I'm just keeping you company." Nile watched his fingers move along the back of her hand. Always restless, unless he was drunk. Sometimes even then. "I missed you." It was weird to say it, somehow. All told, they'd spent about a week together before, but even so, it was true. She'd missed him a lot.

He looked up at her. His pupils were still huge. "I was supposed to be there for you. I fucked it up."

"Yeah. It's okay though. You have been. When I needed you."

Another tear slid down his cheek, following the tracks from earlier. "That's all I want. That's…that's all there is."

"All right," she said, because this was getting way too intense. "Just relax." She patted his hand. "You'll be down soon enough."

"I love you," he said.

Cute, yeah. Hallucinogens were like that. "Okay, all right, you are on drugs." She could only imagine what ecstasy would do to him. Hugging a plush dolphin sounded like a good outcome, really.

"I'm so sad," he said softly. "But it's bad for me, isn't it."

"When you make it your whole world, yeah."

"It's not that's they're dead. It's that they all turned on me. My oldest, he said he understood, but he was lying. He hated me. They all did. They were so cruel. Bitter. They wouldn't have been like that if I had never come into their lives, or if I had run before they found me out."

This was getting dark. He was clearly moving places in his head she wasn't quite following, but it needed to stop.

"I was so afraid of that happening to you and the people you love. I was never any good anyway, but you—"

"Okay, all right. Stop. Think of something nice. Butterflies or dolphins or something, okay? We're not having this talk while you're tripping, it'll suck. You need a therapist, not acid."

"Okay," he agreed, still staring at her. There was a tiny ring of slate blue, maybe greenish still visible in each eye. His eye color was hard to pin down and there were only a couple lamps illuminating the room.

Joe offered to take over, but she shrugged him off. Nile distracted Booker by asking him to tell her about good things she'd missed by being born so late. This led him to landmarks and people and Paris in the 1920s. The couples went to bed, and Nile and Booker stayed up for a few hours until he came down a bit and they both fell asleep.

"I hate drugs," Booker sighed, waking Nile up. She was sprawled on the couch; he was still in the chair.

"You're a drunk," Quynh said, and he jumped.

"Hey, give him some space," Nile croaked, sitting up.

"Sorry, I said that wrong," Booker said tightly. "I hate being forcibly drugged and drowned by a friend."

"You almost killed Andromache," Quynh said. "So I am not sorry."

"That is not what you said yesterday. Oh god, Andy. What...did she...is she alive?"

"Alive and immortal again," Nile told him. "She's fine."

"Makes no sense," he said. "But I'm glad. I think. I'm glad she's alive." He rubbed his eyes as Joe came into the living room. "Did I do anything stupid?"

"Nope," Joe said. "You cried over fungus, you told Nile you loved her, and you missed your dolphin. Adorable."

"Yeah. I remember." Booker got up and looked over at Nile. "Sorry for...that."

"You're good." She sat up as he walked past her, toward the kitchen area, and stopped. "What?"

"Uh." He stared over her shoulder, squinting. Then suddenly, he shoved her down and threw himself in front of Joe. Glass shattered and Booker yelled. "Agh! Merde! Fuck!"

They were used to bullets, but from Nile's position on the couch, she could see a tranquilizer dart sticking out of his chest. Joe ripped it out as everyone took cover.

"Ketamine?" Nile asked.

"Nope," Booker said through gritted teeth, kneeling on the floor. More darts thudded against the walls and furniture. "Something bad." He pressed his forehead to the couch cushions. "I'm going to die. Don't get hit. It's not, ha, it's not worth it."

"I'm going to kill this bastard," Quynh hissed from behind the upturned table. "Andromache! Don't come out!"

Nicky, somehow in a shirt and jeans, army-crawled into the main room, though, with a loaded handgun. A dart barely missed him as he slid behind the couch. "Booker. Where is the shooter?"

"Through the window. Agh! Eleven o'clock." Booker whimpered in pain.

Nicky popped up, dodged a dart by inches, and dropped back down. "I see him. I need cover."

"Yep." Booker took a deep breath and stood straight up. "Go."

"Shit, Booker!" Nile hissed, as Nicky said, "No!"

Nicky rose behind him anyway. Three darts thudded into Booker's frame as Nicky aimed and fired.

The darts stopped. Andy peered out of the bedroom. Nile sat up and yanked the darts out of Booker. He screamed. They were barbed, and she didn't even want to know what poison was in them.

"You are crazy," Nicky said as they laid Booker out on the couch. "When I said I needed cover I meant suppressing fire, not you getting hit again."

"What—agh! What difference does it m-make?" Booker gasped, sweat pouring from his brow.

"Nicky, Quynh, with me," Andy ordered. "Let's see what hit us." She pushed Quynh's crossbow into her hands and grabbed a gun.

Booker moaned in pain and bit out, "You should put me in the bathtub."

"House is burned," Joe said. "Throw up wherever you want."

"I can't—I ca—" He broke off into a horrible agonized hum as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Shoot me in the head, please, this is fucking—this is worse than Laos, fuck," he panted, shaking.

This sucked. What could Nile even do to help? At least when he'd been blown up by grenades, she could see his body healing. This was just a nightmare. "What do we do?"

Joe shook his head. "Wait it out."

"Please, Joe, please, mercy," Booker begged. "I know I don't—" He let out a sob. "—don't deserve it but please."

"Book, no. We don't do that. I'm sorry, you know I don't want to see you suffer. But we agreed."

"What did we agree?" Nile demanded.

"We don't kill each other," Joe said. "We never know if it'll be our last."

"He's going to die anyway!"

"We don't know—" Joe started, but Booker gasped for air and he couldn't breathe, shit, shit, shit. His eyes were wide and terrified as his body shut down and they couldn't do anything, could only sit and wait and fuck, this was awful. She pressed her hand to his cheek as if it could help, and he died gaping like a fish at her as his body writhed and kicked.

He didn't wake up until after the other three came back with the dart gun.

"What do we got?" Joe asked.

"Dead," Andy replied. "No ID on his body, nothing to follow. We need to contact Copley and lie low somewhere else."

"Värnamo," Nicky said. "No one will follow us there."

"Good. Get packed. Booker?"

"Still dead," Nile said, but the color was starting to come back in his cheeks, though she wasn't sure if that was caused by the warmth of her own hand or not. "Come on, wake up."

He jerked to life with a wheezing gasp and let out a groan. "Ow." He took a few breaths. "Fuck." He touched his belly with trembling hands. "What the hell was that?"

"Yup," Nile said, standing up. "Same question."

"We'll send a sample to Copley, but it's probably just a nasty poison," Joe said. "Up you get."

"Uh, no, stay down a minute."

"I'll be fine," Booker said. He pushed himself up, grunting. "We're always fine."

"We can take a minute, that was horrible!"

"I'll take a minute later," Booker said. He started to stand up, but Nicky shoved him back down.

"Sit," he said tightly. His jaw was set. He looked livid. "You can get up when you are healed."

Booker obeyed, touching his chest, and Nicky stalked off to pack.

"Can I get you water or something?" Nile asked.

Booker shook his head. "It's wearing off, it's—" He jolted, gagged, and rushed to the sink to throw up. "Now it's gone." He rested his head against the cabinet and turned on the water. "Go pack."

Right, she was staring. In her defense, she was still getting introduced to all the awful shit they could suffer. Yeah. She touched her neck, remembering, and then went to change her clothes.

They packed quickly and piled into the car. Booker said he would go and Andy told him to get in the damn car. This time Nicky did sit on Joe's lap and Nile took the middle seat. "We need a mini-van," she said again, smushed between all the men while Andy and Quynh were living large in their own seats.

"We'll get one," Andy said. "Or something."

"Thanks, Mom."

"She calls you Mom?" Quynh said, outraged.

"No, love, no. She's teasing."

"I will tease you, Nile Freeman," Quynh threatened.

"Like you teased Booker?" Nile retorted.

"Let it go, Nile," Booker said, staring out the window.

"He nearly killed Andromache," Quynh snapped.

"Stop," Nicky said, and everyone shut up.

Joe called Copley to tell him to track down Andy's pursuers and told him they were going dark for a few days.

The drive was endless, even for an American and five people who predated the automobile. Nile idly wondered if it would be more fun to ride horses to Sweden. Then again, there probably wasn't a bridge from Denmark to Sweden back then.

They stopped for gas after a couple hours and stretched their legs.

"Nicky," Booker tried. "I'm sorry."

Nicky glared at him. "How are we meant to trust you with our lives if you do stupid self-destructive things like that?"

"It was faster."

"No."

"Yours...matter more than mine," Booker said, wincing like he knew it was a bad answer.

Nicky shoved him. "No!"

"I was always—already in pain, it just made se—what was a little more?"

"This is your problem," Nicky said, and he stormed off. Joe followed him, and Booker shook his head and went to use the bathroom.

"You don't like me," Quynh said, sitting on the hood of the car. "You're angry at me."

Nile looked up to see Quynh staring at her. "I don't know you," she said.

"You're protective of him," Quynh said, her eyes boring into Nile's.

"Sure."

"You think I'm crazy?"

"Yeah, pretty much." But she'd seen her. Felt her suffer. "But, who wouldn't be, I mean, I get it. Are you going to do that to me, though? If he replaced you, what about me?"

"You didn't replace me," Quynh said, amused. "I know about you, Nile Freeman. Unlike Sebastien, you willingly sought to become a murderer. My question for you, Nile, is why?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Nile asked, because this was not a discussion she was ready to have with Quynh or anyone at all yet. Maybe Andy.

"While I was alone, trapped, dying, your people invaded my homeland. Brutalized my people. Tried to install their own puppets. Destroyed the land. Put bombs in the dirt that still kill children. Many of them had no choice. Some fought their own people and suffered for it. But you had a choice. You joined this evil army. Look at Yusuf and tell me you made the right choice."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Nile said, feeling queasy.

"Maybe," Quynh said. "We all have blood on our hands. Some of us more than others. You will live too long not to reckon with it."

"Leave me alone," Nile said. She walked away. Being trapped in a too-small car for another five or so hours was going to be a terrible combination with whatever conversation Quynh was trying to force out of her. She had to pee anyway.

Booker had managed to lose his wallet—or Quynh stole it, Nile suspected—though his papers were somewhere in a bag, so Nile paid for drinks and snacks for everyone, and they all climbed back in the car with Joe sitting on Nicky this time.

The thing was. The thing was, Quynh didn't know shit. Quynh was locked in a box for five hundred years and she didn't understand the USA at all. She didn't know about the slave trade and the Revolution and the Civil War and Jim Crow and yeah, maybe she was right about Vietnam but she didn't know Nile, she definitely didn't know her dad, she just didn't know the full context. She didn't know what it was to be a Black person in America.

Also, Joe was from North Africa, not Iraq or Afghanistan.

She found herself staring at him anyway. None of them had ever asked her why she joined the Marines, aside from Andy acknowledging her father had served. And Joe was married to a fucking Crusader, so…

So…

So, Nicky had given that up, shaken off the xenophobic, anti-Muslim propaganda, obviously, since he loved Joe and Joe loved him, and Joe had forgiven him.

So maybe she needed to talk about it. Think about it. She wasn't stupid. It was just really complicated for her, and God knew she'd been hit with enough to think about in the last year.

It would be really nice if she, like two-thirds of the people in this cramped car, had a person who got her, who had her back while she worked it out. She loved Andy very much, but she could already tell that Andy and Quynh were going to be preoccupied with each other for a while, and even when they cooled off, they would still be partners. That left two lone wolves in loose orbit around the others.

That was a bit dramatic. They both had their family—well, Nile did. What exactly was going to happen with Booker was probably up to Nicky and Joe, ultimately.

She'd said an apology would be better than exile. She had not said please don't throw out the person I need because even a year later, it sounded ridiculous. She'd spent a year with Joe, Nicky, and Andy. She'd spent a few days here and there with Booker, if that.

And to be clear, she didn't want Quynh thrown out either. Booker didn't have to forgive her, but no one could ever understand the kind of suffering Quynh had been through. If she had a few screws loose, if she lashed out, even if she hurt people, she needed help, not retribution.

This was also the practical answer, because if any one of them lost their moral center and started hurting people, there was no good way to make them stop. They had to hold on to each other.

Maybe the best option for now would be to split up. Everyone nine-hundred plus could go one way, the kids could go another, take a few months, get some space, set some boundaries, get some therapy, set some goals, make some promises.

She tried not to wonder if the others were quietly judging her for joining the Marines, but the thought sat with her on and off for the next five hours as they crossed into Sweden.


	5. it's too darn cold

  1. Värnamo, Sweden



Värnamo was cold, and Nile wouldn't have minded too much except Booker was clearly miserable and too guilt-ridden to say so around the others. There was no fireplace, the baseboard heaters were weak at best, and the insulation was crap. He had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders as they ate a takeout dinner, but it didn't cover him that much. He always hid it when he could, but he was a big guy, broad shouldered, muscular, and tall. And when he was miserable, he drank.

In this case, Nile could relate. Some liquor would be nice to warm her up.

They were in Sweden to hunker down for a few days to let things blow over while Copley got rid of it. So they were stuck inside with nothing to do, and no separate bedrooms for Nicky and Joe or Andy and Quynh to blow off steam. Or for Nile and Booker to lock themselves inside and play cards and pretend they were plotting against the older ones.

Or just get some time alone together. Honestly, she wanted to spend some time with the other young (ish) and single person—not because of that, but because by default, they could be closer with each other than they were with the others, and it was nice to hang out with someone who understood her.

Because he did, way better than the ancient lovebirds. He understood why she still mourned losing the chance to see her family again, he understood why she still believed in God—and Joe and Nicky weren't not religious, but they were old and complicated and Nicky was so very Catholic. Andy, of course, was a bit more respectful of Nile's beliefs now, but not so much that getting past that first interaction was really in the cards. But Booker…well, if nothing else, he listened, and she liked that.

Their safe house was crap. There was a stove, no fridge or freezer, one sink, and an incinerator toilet because the pipes had a tendency to burst when the house was unused. There were no beds, just some carpets and bedrolls and sleeping bags and one sagging couch that no one but Quynh could even stretch out on.

They finished dinner and mostly cracked open some old books. Andy sharpened her labrys. There was nothing else to do. Booker huddled in one corner of the couch, knees drawn up to his chest, and thumbed through an old hardback. Nile threw another blanket on him and he looked up at her. "You look cold."

"I, uh, froze to death a few times," he said. "My first death, broke my neck, then just...just dozens of suffocations, and then after that, I froze to death a few times before I got out of Russia. I hate cold."

She sat down next to him. "How did it happen?"

"Yeah," Booker said. "I never told you, did I. They didn't?"

"Just something about dying in the Napoleonic wars."

"Yeah. I had a choice between being hanged for forgery or joining his stupid army. Didn't want to die, but then we invaded Russia in the winter. People were starving to death. I still didn't want to die, I ran, I got caught. I got hanged with the other deserters. I think I was about four deaths in when I realized it wasn't going to stop."

"How could you...what did you do?"

"Stopped struggling. It was freezing, so that was easier than you'd think. Couldn't breathe for three days. I don't even know how many times I died. Hundreds, probably. Finally, they were gone, and I got myself down. I was so weak I could barely move but I got a hand on the rope so I could breathe, finally. A crow landed on me and I ate it. Broke my neck again getting down, and froze to death three times that night. Then a few more times getting home to Paris. I hate cold."

"You...you ate a dead crow?"

"I don't know if it was dead when I started eating it."

"Gross," Nile said automatically, her stomach turning. "Sorry, I mean—"

"No, it was gross." He shuddered. "Feathers."

"Sounds like a nightmare."

He shrugged. "We all had to figure it out somehow." Up close, his eyes were pretty, always expressive, always full of something a little bit more than he was saying.

The front door opened and Quynh called, "Where are you going?"

"Just getting the milk," Nicky said.

"What milk?" she said, but the door had already closed behind him.

He came back in with a jug of milk and poured it into a pot, which he set on the stove.

"What are you cooking?" Quynh demanded. "Nico!"

"I am making hot chocolate."

"I haven't had that."

"That is why I'm making it. Also because it is so cold."

"Oh," she said, and then said, "I did not know the crow story either."

Booker looked at Nile. "I didn't make a, uh, shit. What are they called? Blog post." He was talking to Quynh, but it was Nile he was saying it for. She grinned, and his eyes lightened a little.

"Probably not one for the wordpress site, no," she agreed.

"I am sorry about torturing you, Booker," Quynh said. "I did not feel you die and be reborn, not really. It was all too much then. I am sorry I hurt you more."

They hadn't really talked about it yet. Nile had been making a point of keeping her body between Booker and Quynh since they'd pulled him out of the boat, but then they had just left the country without fixing anything. Andy had started doing it too, but stopped when she saw Nile had it handled.

"I lived," he said, and Nile really, really hated that. It wasn't that she wanted to hold a grudge against Quynh. Sure, she was protective of Booker because he was the other new kid, the one she looked to when stuff wasn't making sense, the one who didn't have a partner like the others did, but Quynh had been through something unimaginable. That didn't mean Booker should shrug it off.

Besides, Nile knew he wasn't. He probably just didn't want to talk about it in front of Quynh. She'd bother him later, once they were out of this stupid house.

"That is not always a blessing," Quynh said, and Andy put aside her axe and whetstone to pull Quynh into her lap.

"I know," Booker said, looking back at his book. Nile wanted to hug him. Then she remembered his presence might be temporary, as he hadn't been gone very long at all, and she wanted to hug him more.

And maybe be hugged back. That would be nice.

Nicky brought everyone hot mugs of cocoa and set a bottle of peppermint schnapps on the floor. Nile poured a little too much in hers, but oh well. It was cold. They all dumped some in their drinks and sipped at the sweet, steaming good stuff.

The schnapps hit quickly, a warm tingle spreading up Nile's legs to her arms and head. Alcohol always wore off faster now, but there was enough time to let it feel nice for a bit. She finished her cocoa and yawned.

Booker was staring into his cocoa. "Um," he said. "What happens after this?" No one said anything, so he added, "I still have ninety-nine years left."

That sucked, so Nile leaned against his shoulder. "Maybe," she said, which wasn't really her place to say, but she was tipsy and she didn't want him to go.

"We'll talk about it later," Andy said. "You're stuck here for now." Her eyes fell on Nile, and she looked… Hmm. Nile really wasn't sure what that expression meant. Her eyes were soft, but maybe concerned. She wasn't angry, and a corner of her mouth was twitching upward just a little.

Yeah, Nile didn't have a clue. Andy was old. Maybe faces were different six thousand years ago. Whatever. None of her business if Nile wanted to share human contact with the naughty boy who had been sent to the corner. Everyone else had someone to snuggle. She was going to bump shoulders with him if she wanted to, damn it.

Hmm. That was a lot more alcohol than she'd meant to drink. Was she coming off as thirsty? Shit, _was_ she thirsty?

No. No, this wasn't that. She liked him as a friend and besides, weren't Europeans more fine with being touchy-feely, or was that just certain countries, and did it make a difference that they were all centuries old?

He hadn't moved, so that was a good sign.

Immortality sure was a lot of waiting around. "Why don't you guys have safe houses with like, video games and stuff? Is there a Scrabble board in the closet?"

"We do," Joe said. "Just not this one. Nicky likes that assassin game."

"We could be playing Quiplash, I'm just saying, books get old."

"What's Quiplash?" Booker asked.

"Uh, it's like a virtual Apples to Ap—um, the screen gives you a prompt, you make jokes, and then everyone votes on the funniest ones, basically. But you use your phone so it's anonymous. It's fun. You need internet though."

"We don't have that," Booker said, sighing. Books it was.

Joe was wrapped around Nicky as always, Quynh and Andy were clinging to each other for dear life, and Nile and Booker were lying flat on their backs somehow managing not to touch each other despite sharing several blankets. Fuck this place so hard. No beds and it was absolutely frigid. She could feel the misery radiating from Booker, and to be honest, she was pretty miserable herself. Fuck Sweden.

Andy had offered to let Nile into her and Quynh's nest of linens and blankets, but Quynh hardly seemed enthused and Booker wasn't going to get an invitation to cuddle with Joe and Nicky, so Nile had declined in favor of bunking with him.

He curled up on his side to try and limit heat loss, but he didn't stop shivering, and she couldn't sleep like this either, so after twenty minutes she gave up, scooted over, and pressed up against his back. He tensed momentarily. Shit, had she been too presumptuous? But no, he relaxed almost right away. Because friends keep each other warm when it's cold as hell. That's normal and that's how it works. It wasn't much, but the heat conservation helped her drift off.

She woke up in the morning with their positions reversed.

It had been ages since she'd woken up in someone's arms like this, even her mom's. Actually, cute art student Jason was probably the last person she'd had a cozy sleepover with. Booker's arm was heavy against her and at least it was fucking warm, cradled in his bubble of body heat. Add a good mattress and a silk pillowcase and maybe Nile could get used to this. No one else was up, although Nicky was peeking out of his mess of bedding, his green eyes watching her sleepily. Whatever. It was too cold to get up, so she shut her eyes and tried to doze as he got up to make eggs.

When she woke again, eggs were sizzling on the stove, the room was much brighter, and Booker was sitting up, a hand on her upper arm.

Nicky didn't look at Booker, but he had made a plate for him.

Andy sent Booker to the store around lunchtime, telling him to give them an hour to talk.


	6. we need to talk about sébastien

"I'm not going to ignore him for a century," Nile said in a rush, her stomach flipping. She didn't want to hurt their feelings, but he was her friend and she needed him. "I know this whole thing is...I know the point of it is he has to work himself out and you guys get to deal with the Merrick thing without him around. I know and I understand. But I don't want to wait ninety-nine years to see him again, and if there's one thing I know, it's that people need connections in order to get better. And you can't say a hundred years isn't that long because he's not half as old as you guys, a hundred years is half his immortal life. A third at the end of the sentence. And it'll be most of my life. So if I have to sneak around, I will, but I'm not going to shun him for a century. Sorry. I don't—I can't think in timespans like that yet."

"We're too old for you, huh," Andy said.

"It's not like that. I just… A hundred years. I won't know him, but you will and it's not fair to me and it's not good for him. And th—" She stopped short of adding "And you all have each other and I want one too," because that would muddy the waters a lot and she wasn't asking for the same kind of partner, just a person who could be her person, the person she turned to first, the person who didn't have a lover to prioritize...and yeah, it had to be Booker, but she also wanted it to be Booker. He didn't make fun of her beliefs or try to brush over her loneliness and he experienced time more like she did than the others. "Anyway. That's where I stand."

Nicky was considering her at length, and she thought for a minute he was going to say something about...well, there wasn't anything there, after all, they were all pretty touchy feely, and even if Nile was American, she was getting used to the casual physical affection from her new family, yes, Booker included. She just wanted a friend, not anything else, so if he said—

"I understand," Joe said, interrupting her train of thought. "And you're right. We've reached a point where we understand time differently."

"But that doesn't erase what he did. To us," Nicky said.

"He took those darts for you, though," Joe said slowly.

"I don't think his love for us is in question," Andy said. "It's whether we can trust him not to lose himself to his own head and drag us down with him again."

"Sure," Nile said. "Leaving him alone is a great way to make sure that doesn't happen."

Joe sighed. "You're right, but alone, he can't do it to us."

"Uh, yes he can. He won't, but if there was one person on the planet who could find us when we were trying not to be found, it's Booker. I'm just trying to be realistic here."

Andy crossed her arms. "We can't bring him back unless we're all agreed. Nicky, what do you need?"

Everyone looked at Nicky, but Nicky just looked at Joe. Time slowed down until at last Nicky said, "I need to talk to him alone."

"Okay. And until that happens, this conversation isn't going anywhere, is it?"

"I think some meaningful things have been said, but until I speak to him, I can't change my position."

"What if we split up for now?" Nile suggested. "So that anyone who doesn't want to see someone else doesn't have to. Just get some space. I can go with Booker, and the rest of you guys can do something else."

"Then I would still need to speak to him. Especially so."

"Why not now?" Quynh suggested. "Go meet him at the store. Then we can move past this miserable place and the way you move around him and his fear of you."

Yeah, because it was _Nicky_ that Booker was afraid of. "He took the car," Nile said. Actually, she didn't remember hearing him pull out. "I think." She checked. The car was still there, empty. "Actually, he didn't, which is weird, right? Didn't he take the keys? Grocery shopping is usually a car trip even here, right?"

Nicky sighed. "I will go get him, then."

The keys were evidently left in the car, because Nicky had no trouble getting it started.

"If Nicky is okay with bringing him back now," Nile asked, "would the rest you really be?"

"Maybe we should split up, like you said. Not just for me and Nicky, but for Booker's sake," Joe said, looking over at Quynh.

"You would be crazy too," Quynh said.

"None of this is about retribution, Quynh. When bad things happen to you, sometimes you need to get space from those things so you can heal."

"I know!" she yelled. "I know," she said again, quieter. "I don't want to be the bad thing."

Andy cupped her jaw. "We're going to be better. We just need time. We all need it."

Quynh pushed her off, marched into the kitchen, and started smashing dishes on the floor. Andy didn't look concerned, though, so Nile tried not to react. Joe pulled out his phone and texted something—probably telling Nicky to get some mugs, Nile guessed.

Nicky came back empty handed after Quynh had obliterated all the soup bowls and found her way back to Andy's lap.

"He's gone," Nicky said. "He left."

Oh.

Nile felt extremely stupid. "Does he have his phone?"

"He's not answering it." Nicky put the keys on the counter. "No, he left a message with the checker. That he was leaving, and not to worry. So he hasn't learned anything at all."

"Damn it," Andy sighed. "All right, someone try to get in touch with him, but we're stuck here until Copley gives us the go ahead."

"I'll do it," Nile said, pulling her phone out. Nicky dug a broom and dustpan out of the bathroom and started sweeping up the shards of porcelain.

 _We want you to come home,_ Nile texted him. _You and I can split off from the others for awhile if you want. Give Andy and Quynh time to reconnect and stuff. Get space from her._

He didn't reply right away, but that was fine, as long as he did eventually. Fuck. If he didn't come home tonight, sleeping was going to be very cold and miserable. She looked around at the walls. "Where's the best place to put in a chimney?"

Joe looked around and pointed at the open side opposite the kitchen. "Right there."

"Or a space heater usually runs about sixty bucks in the states, there's gotta be one we can buy near here." She opened up maps and found a tool store. "They probably sell them here."

"Good idea," Joe acknowledged. "I'll go with you. We need to get groceries anyway."

"Booker left all the kronor in the car," Nicky called from the kitchen. "And please get more eggs."

It seemed insane to just do normal person things, buy groceries, replace broken dishes, drive to the appliance store for a heater, while Quynh was unstable and dangerous and Booker had run away and someone had tried to kill them yesterday morning with poison darts and Andy was immortal again and it was so damn freezing outside and Joe was smiling like he wasn't worried, like it was fine that their suicidal family member was missing, that was just fucking fine, but they did need the heater and food, so Nile got in the car with Joe and directed him to the store.

They bought an electric oil-filled radiator and got a good deal on a new set of dishes. Nile checked her phone about thirty times, but Booker never texted her back. They bought groceries, went home, made dinner, went to bed, and nothing.

The radiator warmed the space considerably. Nile still felt cold. This sucked.

He didn't reply the next day or the day after. A week passed before Copley gave them the go-ahead to move out, and they headed south to warmer climes. They stopped in Paris to check his old flat, but it hadn't been touched since Quynh and Booker had left it. "We won't find him if he doesn't want to be found," Joe said. "He'll come when he's ready, and that's for the best."

Quynh wanted to go somewhere warm but refused to take a plane or boat, so they went to Tuscany, which wasn't likely to get below freezing. It was nice and they could easily blend in among the tourists. Quynh's absolutely insane demeanor was explained by her foreignness, which worked, to Nile's great disappointment. She wanted to think better of people. Even so, it was good for her to be in public. Her Italian was odd, but she was picking up the modern nuances and learning how to behave. Nicky and Joe started teaching Nile the language. It was different from French and Spanish, but not terribly hard to pick up a little.

They stayed for a few months. Nile was very much a fifth wheel, what with Andy and Quynh still in desperate cling mode, though the boys were very good about paying her a lot of attention. She still privately cursed Booker for abandoning her in her hour of need.

 _We're in Tuscany. I could use another single person,_ she texted without thinking about it until twenty minutes later, at which point she added, _like because andy and quynh are super mushy and if I wanna hang with someone I have to break up a couple._

No response, but she expected that.

Tuscany. 2023. Three months after Quynh rejoins the family.

A week after that last text, after way too much wine, she texted him again. _Everyone is super old here they have zero boundaries. Were separate bedrooms a thing. And like walls. When you were young. Because I am just sitting here on the balcony bc everyone is tipsy and if I walk into a hotel room I get to see absolutely everything._

_And everyone is very pretty so its not traumatic but no one knows how to put a sock on the doorknob_

_Do you know abt socks on doorknobs_

_It's a college thing u put a sock on knob so ur roommate doesn walk in on u_

_I think I drank too much_

_R u even there_

_Did u kill ur phoone_

_No one here knows how to track w phones they probably didn't even think to ask copley_

_Joe's like 'he;ll come back when hes ready' ok but if it;s a long ass time im tracking down ur french ass whats the point of being alone_

_Unless ur getting some like really good therapy that's cool too._

_But also_

_We should meet up when were not getting exploded and beheaded and kidnapped and shit_

_Thatd be nice_

_I decided not to worry abt double texting when u NVR ANSWER it be nice to know ur ALIVE MR THE BOOK_

_i mean I know ur alive I mean like not in immediate peril_

_I feel like I'm young and drunk and invincible and I'm in fuckin tuscany and I can't go out and party or dance or whatever I mean I can btu who would even come with me they're all fucking_

_Is it bad that being immortal makes me wanna try all the drugs I never did as a teen bc I wanted to be good for mom_

_Also they can't hurt me_

_Not meth just like the hippie stuff or whatever_

_Okay well when ur back from vacation I expect a souvenir_

She locked her phone and put it down. Even drunk, she was pretty sure that was way too much. If only her earbuds weren't in the hotel room. It would be nice to listen to some music right now.

Nile wasn't jealous of the others for having romantic partners, but she was a bit envious of them for having a partner at all. She looked back at her phone. Thankfully Andy came out onto the balcony before she could pick it back up. "What are you doing out here?" Andy asked, a stupid smile on her face.

"Drunk texting a guy," Nile answered because alcohol brain thought it was funny.

"Is he texting back?"

"No," Nile admitted. "But he will."

"Did you say anything embarrassing?"

"Yeah," Nile said, but she didn't really care. Andy laughed, and Nile's treacherous mouth said, "Fuck, you're hot," which made her laugh harder.

"You know," she said, "you could go hit a club or a bar or something. Lots of people speak English. Get your own room if you're worried about privacy."

Nile shrugged. "I've never really done the one night thing."

"Never too late to try it. We should go to Mykonos. The nightlife there is queer."

This was getting weird. Must be another one of those zero boundaries for family things. "I don't know. I'm better with boyfriends and girlfriends."

"You can do that, if you want. It just always ends. If you end it sooner, it hurts, but if you hold on too long…"

"I know. I wanna believe not everyone is like Booker's family, though."

"Maybe so. If you want to sleep, we're done."

"I'm fine," Nile said, standing up. "Nope, I'm drunk. Yep, I'm going to bed." She got through the door and fell onto her bed.

"Hi, Nile," Quynh said lazily from the other bed where she was sprawled with everything on display.

Nile should really have known by now that "done" did not mean "clothed." "Hi, Quynh," she sighed, and she pulled the covers over her head. Booker was missing, but it was still a calm enough vacation in a beautiful land.

Until a few weeks later, when Joe and Nicky went out for a fancy dinner and Joe ran into a woman on the way to the bathroom. "She was pretty glamorous," he said later as they sat out on the balcony with tea. "That wasn't costume jewelry."

"What happened?" Nile asked.

"Oh, she told me she needed a date for tomorrow night's something or other. I told her I was married, she said it was only a date and my wife could get over it, so I told her she was being rude to me and to my husband. She didn't like that."

"She yell at you?"

"No. She said I would be sorry for turning her down."

"Wow."

"Are you sorry?" Nicky asked.

"Oh, absolutely," Joe said, laughing. "Yes, I missed my chance to get a sugar mama."

"I could stab her," Quynh said, then, seeing their faces when only Andy laughed, added, "I was not serious."

"I think I'll be all right. But thanks for offering. You're sweet." He winked at Nicky and took a sip of his tea.

_Quynh wants to say she's sorry._

_We can still do the splitting up thing. Like I said._

_Would you please just answer so I know you're getting these?_

The last three messages she'd sent were unanswered. Still. Worth a try.

 _Joe's missing and we can't find him,_ she texted. _Could really use your help._

Still no response.

"Lay it out again," Andy said.

"There's nothing more to lay out," Nicky said with forced calm. "He went for a walk and he did not come back. I found his phone three blocks away on the ground one hour after he left."

"That woman I was going to stab," Quynh suggested.

"Or one of Andy's enemies," Nile pointed out. "Wait. Does Joe have any specific enemies?"

Nicky shook his head. "We all might, but none that I know of who are still living. We usually are careful to tie things off."

"Yeah, but it's harder to do that in the twenty-first century. Okay. One lead, that woman who was harassing him. Would you recognize her if you saw her?"

"Yes," Nicky confirmed.

"If she's rich and she's from around here, I can probably find her," Nile said, pulling out her laptop.

It took less than two hours to put a name to her face, but three days to do recon. Andy and Nicky staked out the mansion of the glamorous and suspicious Martina Savelli while Quynh attempted to befriend her once they saw her walk into a club. There was no sign of Joe until the third evening, when Quynh got her drunk and she said, "Men don't know what's good for them. Sometimes you have to tell them." Quynh laughed and agreed with her, and she continued. "There was a man I met the other night, he—well, never mind. He thought he was gay."

Quynh immediately texted Nile this information, and she reconvened with Andy and Nicky to break into the house. "Ready?" Andy asked.

Nile opened her mouth, and her phone buzzed. "One sec."

_Wrong place. I got him. Come back to the hotel._

"Asshole!" Nile hissed. "What did we miss?"

"What?" Nicky demanded.

"He said we were at the wrong place. I'm going to kick his ass. One text! I asked for literally one—Anyway." She held up the phone for Nicky to see. "I guess we should go back to the hotel. Should I call?"

Nicky sighed in relief. "No. We will just go."

"If we're being played," Andy said, starting the car, "I'm going to stab this woman before Quynh can."

But Joe was there, just getting out of the shower when they got in. Nicky grabbed him immediately and they held each other silently. Joe's towel fell to the floor and Nile was just going to get used to it, she guessed. More importantly, Joe was home. They were all together—except Quynh, who was currently extricating herself from the target.

"Did she hurt you?" Nicky murmured in that calm tone that meant someone was in danger of being murdered.

"No," Joe answered. Nile had questions, but after nine hundred-odd years, they probably had a shared definition of "hurt" so Joe did not elaborate.

She joined Booker out on the balcony. "Did you bring me a souvenir?"

He was hunched over against railing, surprisingly without a drink in hand, which was probably why he was nibbling at his thumbnail. He always tried to make himself look so small. He grunted, or maybe that was a dry laugh. "Sorry. I got distracted."

"Well, you could've texted me back."

"Replied to your drunk texts?"

"Uh, yeah." She wasn't going to be shamed by a two hundred fifty year-old alcoholic about drunk texting the one friend closest to her in age. "Are you going to run away again?"

He glanced at her, raised his eyebrows, and nodded.

"Okay, well. Don't. Don't do that."

"I came because you asked for help, but I'm not wanted here, and I deserve that." Booker stared out at the city. "I'm in exile for another ninety-nine years."

"I want you here," Nile said. "I might be the baby, but I think I should get a say."

"Yeah," he said. "That worries me." She wasn't sure whether to be offended, but he continued. "It's not that simple. I never meant for things to go the way they did, but I had a lot of chances to come clean and I didn't. We have so much time we're stuck here, and we can't kill each other or hold each other prisoner. This is the only punishment they can give me. Together is the only way to live with our existence, but you can't be with someone whose lies get you exposed and tortured. You can't have someone in the family who turns on you. You can't feel safe and heal from that shit when the person who put you there is sitting across from you. And you can't hand down a sentence and change your mind one percent of the way through it. That makes it meaningless."

"No, it doesn't. There's only six of us. What, are you going to betray us again?"

"No, god, no."

"Then who cares? Who are we making an example for? Quynh? No one seems to want to even tell her off for what she did. We're just letting her work through it herself. She is sorry, by the way. If you need the space, or if Joe and Nicky do, I get it, but this is stupid."

Booker turned, straightened, and stared at her, searching her face.

"What?"

"I'm just trying to decide whether we've all lost our perspective because we're too old or if I want you to be right and you're not. Or if you want something."

Yeah, she did, but she thought she'd made that pretty clear already. "What if Nicky fucked up? You think Joe would just throw him out for a century?"

"Well, he wouldn't, because he would never keep secrets from Joe."

"Fine. What if Quynh, driven by her pain, lashed out and brutalized one of us?"

"Quynh's been through hell. We've both felt it."

"And now she's home with Andy and we're looking after her. Andy would never walk away from her again. Being alone wouldn't help her."

"How could you possibly trust me?" he asked, his eyes sad and serious.

"I don't know, we'll figure it out. How would I trust you more after not speaking for a hundred years? What are you going to do, a twelve step program? Therapy? Learn to play guitar?" Hmm. Those were great ideas, now that she mentioned it. "Actually—"

"Don't make me your project, Nile," Booker said, though he looked darkly amused. "You have better things to do with your life."

"I'm not," she said, frustrated. "I'm asking you to—Forget it. Not your problem, I guess."

"I know," he said. "You're lonely." And suddenly he looked old again. Two hundred years with Andy, who was still

"Yeah, no shit. Aren't you? We're the kids. We have to unionize."

That startled a laugh out of him, a real one. It might have been the first time she'd heard him laugh that wasn't drenched in cynicism or pain. "Are we—are we going on strike?"

"Not unless we have to," Nile said. "We just have to…uh…pay dues." This metaphor was getting away from her.

"You collecting?"

She poked him. "I mean, have each other's backs."

Booker's eyes narrowed, but he just looked concerned. "That sounds like a lot more work for you than for me."

Nile rolled her eyes. "You literally put me back together like a puzzle." She touched her throat and he, probably unconsciously, touched his too. Their first deaths hadn't been the same, not quite, but their killers had targeted the same spot, basically. She understood something about that, anyway. Probably.

He realized where his hand was and dropped it, looking away and breaking the moment.

"Nicky wants to talk to you," she said, remembering where they'd left things in Sweden. "Probably not tonight, though."

"Ah," he said.

"Yeah, Dad has to have a serious chat." She realized a moment too late that a joke like that might not land, but he just quirked a half smile.

"Sure."

Nile wondered what kind of father Booker had been. He was absolutely nothing like hers—well, he wasn't _now,_ but how had he been with his kids? His feelings oozed all over the place now. He cried talking about his family. She liked to think he been that open and free with his love for them while they were alive.

She decided not to compare him to her dad. It was weird.

"So…where was Joe?"

"She owns multiple houses."

Nile sighed. "It's not my area of expertise."

"I'll show you some stuff."

"Thank you. See? That. Support."

"I don't know. Ninety-nine years might be easier than that talk with Nicky."

"Yeah, definitely sounds too scary for a guy your age."

"Well, you know Nicky." They traded shaky smiles, and he sighed. "I'll talk with him."

"Good man."

Booker pulled the exact face she expected: half a smile to indicate he was engaged in the conversation, and eyebrows raised skeptically.

What she meant to say was something along the lines of, "I'm not going to argue about whether you're a good man or not or whether I can say that to you because it will be boring and annoying for both of us." To her absolute horror, what she _said_ was, "Don't talk back."

"Sure, boss," he answered before she could even correct herself, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Huh. His eyes were asymmetrical. Just barely. She was staring. "I meant—uh. You know." She thanked God for her dark skin because her cheeks were burning.

He nodded.

If it fluffed her ego a little to have a two hundred fifty-year-old man call her "boss," well. No harm done, right?

Ultimately they did choose to split up for a few months. Whatever Nicky and Booker talked about had him stuck in his head pretty hard while Nile drove them to Amsterdam. She was just going to spend the rest of her life scurrying from European capital to European capital, she guessed.

Which was fine. She wasn't ready to go back to the states. It'd be nice to hit up some Asian or African countries though. Right now, though, it was time to learn some Dutch. At least Booker was fluent. However, he was sulky and boring—or pensive, whatever—during the drive, so she put on music. But her phone shuffled to Frank Ocean's "Godspeed" and suddenly she was back in Afghanistan with blood on her hands.

Wouldn't it be nice if she could face all this shit in a normal, linear, methodical fashion. Instead, she said, "Hey, when did you first kill someone?"

Booker didn't blink. "1847. Year after my youngest died."

That was not the answer she had expected. "But you were in a war?"

"I was a thief, not a soldier. I aimed up and hoped to god I didn't hit anyone. 1847 was the first time I _knew_ I killed someone." He fiddled with the door lock, clicking it back and forth a few times. "I didn't like it."

"So…so how did you deal with it?"

"Added it to the pile of things that I was trying to drink away."

"Oh. That's helpful."

"Oh, christ." He sat up straighter. "I thought you were asking about me. Sorry."

"No, I was, I—" And now she was embarrassed. "Sorry."

"It gets easier, if that's what you're asking. And uh, I know it's not worth much, but I'm sorry I'm the reason you had to kill a lot of people so soon after your first. I never wanted you there at all. Hell, when Andy said you'd run I was relieved."

"No, I'm not—that's not why I brought it up. It doesn't matter. I mean. It just sucks."

He grunted in acknowledgment and they were both quiet for a few songs. "You know," he said eventually, "everyone feels it. Nicky and Andy are a little easier with killing than, well, me, at least, the women have always been bloodthirsty and Nicky joined the first Crusade and uh, even after shaking off the poison he's still got a Catholic-influenced code, but after centuries and millennia, they still feel every life they take. Maybe more because we know what it feels like to die. Most of us remember the terror of it. I don't know if that's helpful at all."

"I don't know either," Nile said honestly. "But it's something to think about."

"Yeah, you're welcome."

The dry cynicism in his voice annoyed her, but she looked over to see his dumb, shit-eating grin. She rolled her eyes and poked him.

He laughed, and then he added, "I think it would be easier for us to go numb, but...well. We don't. We can't. Well, we could, but we can't."

"I get it."

"It's why the alcohol," he said suddenly.

"I know."

"I don't have advice."

"Okay." Not what she was after, anyway. "Do you mind if I talk at you, then? I—there's things I'm trying to…"

"Process?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, of course."

She looked out at the sky. This felt like an evening talk, but the sun was high overhead. "He was a really bad person. He killed a lot of people. Not just Americans, not just soldiers. Civilians. But I—I keep thinking, people don't just…" Nile took a deep breath. "How did he get there, and why was it my job to execute a man halfway across the world?"

He didn't say anything, so she kept going. "And this war's been going on so long that there's second generations of soldiers in it. I joined because of my dad, but I didn't have a lot of good options either."

"That's how empires work," Booker said.

Old man. The modern term was superpower, but whatever. Did it matter? There were eight hundred-odd military bases across the world and yeah, that was an occupation or something like it. And nukes. She knew all that. "I guess my dad and I wanted to prove something, or not even that, just get a higher level of citizenship. Or something. Living in America is like living in an occupied state for Black people. And Native Americans, I guess, I don't really know about it."

"Yeah."

"It's my home but it doesn't really want me there but I can't go anywhere else, and I feel like I'm just trying to justify shooting a guy who killed me and killed a lot of people before me." Nile didn't have to glance over to know he was watching her, but she did anyway. For an almost generic looking white dude, he did have the most strikingly soulful eyes. "I know—I _knew_ going in that the wars weren't good. I just, I guess I thought I could be good anyway. That I could, I don't know, change things if I got up high enough. Or at least make a difference in my division. Probably stupid."

"Being wrong doesn't make you stupid. It just makes you wrong. You're young, and you're good, and the world is terrible." He sounded tired. "Empires ruin everyone, it's what they do. I can't give you judgment or absolution. Not me, and not in this tangled, fucked up world."

"But we're supposed to make it better."

"I hope so."

"I wish I could _know_ , you know? Copley's got his wall and you guys have done so much good shit you can't even see for decades but in the moment, how do we know? There's a lot less certainty here than being in the Marines. But I guess here I'm not padding Dick Cheney's bank account."

"Is that enough for you?" He sounded a lot more sincere than usual.

She considered. "I think so. Trying to do it right. Purpose, like Andy says. Don't know if I'm ready to take on the entire US military yet."

"I…uh, what's the phrase? I love that energy."

She snorted. "Yeah, all right. Maybe someday. Anyway, I have a new family, I think that's enough for now. You guys are okay."

He laughed. "Wait until you're stuck with us for a hundred years."

"Joe and Nicky seem okay."

"Yeah, well. They're the lucky ones."

They were, and Nile glanced over at Booker, who met her eyes for a half second before looking away.

There was practicality, and then there was not thinking about extremely bad choices that probably wouldn't get her anywhere and she wasn't really interested in anyway.

Yet, at least. "So what's good in Amsterdam? Or are we don't ask don't tell about the red light district?"

"Sure, I won't ask. I just like the museums and the cafes."

Oh, Mr. Classy. Figured.

"Hey, uh, Nile, I appreciate your interest in me—nope. That's not the right word. Uh…" He started muttering something in a language she didn't think was French, but maybe it was. "I can't think of it. I mean, it's good of you to look out for me. You really don't need to and you probably shouldn't. It's not your job. Hell, I should be the one looking out for you."

She shrugged. This was going to be a theme with him. _People care about you, asshole, get used to it._ "Maybe I want to make fun of the old-ass lovebirds with someone else. Also, was that French? It's been a long time since high school, but—"

"Provençal. Occitan. Which reminds me, you should learn Dutch, it's a lot easier for English speakers than you think. It's nearly the same language."

"Sure. Gotta start somewhere." Nicky and Joe were pretty good about sticking to English around Nile, but sometimes they would talk to each other in Arabic and maybe Italian, or something else she didn't know. "You're from Provence?"

"Marseille."

"Right. I knew that."

"Left for Paris when I was twenty-one."

"You miss it? Marseille?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "It's not the same these days, although that's probably a good thing. Wonder how you'll feel about Chicago in two hundred years."

Two hundred years in the future was much too far away and much too close. "I don't know if there will be a Chicago—hell, I don't know if there will be a USA then."

"Mm. There's a thought. World without a United States."

"Thought you were older than it."

"Not by much. Of course, we didn't used to have to talk about it so much."

"What did you talk about? France?"

"Yeah. Nothing new under the sun."

"Oceans rise, empires fall."

"I guess?"

"It's…there was a musical— _Hamilton_ —never mind."

"Oh, oh, the rap one, right. Take the exit up here."

"The _rap one_. You're so old. I meant what I said, by the way," Nile said as she got off the highway.

"I'm sure you did?"

"Everyone else is paired up but that doesn't mean we're the leftovers; it just makes us, uh, also a team."

"Think you said something more along the lines of Teamsters."

"Either way."

He hummed in amusement and fished out his flask. "All right, all right, I'm in."

"No open containers in the car," she chanced, but he didn't let her get away with it.

"I'll get rid of it," he said, and he downed the whole thing.

Well, one thing at a time.


	7. nice fake coins, bro

2023\. Marseille, France

A few months turned into a year. A year off of violence and a year away from their family and a year to get immune to an old man's stupid soulful puppy dog eyes. Her brother would drag her so hard for this. In two weeks they were due to meet up with the others in Rome. For the moment, Booker and Nile were wandering around a museum in Marseille. Home for Booker, sort of, and Nile wanted to see it.

She wanted to see a lot of things. It was funny now, with her new family being older than the Renaissance and the pyramids, walking through a history museum with a guy older than America. A man who was older than a few exhibits, but younger than many, and whom she had pestered into being stone cold sober for museum visits, at least today. He was doing okay.

"Those yours?" Nile asked, pointing at a display of counterfeit coins from the early 1800s.

"Probably not," he said as he came over. "Oh, uh. Wow. Maybe."

She read the display. Her French was better but the phrasing was weird. Something about the forger responsible being tried and executed. "What does it say?"

"Damn. That's me. Stay of execution for joining the army. Doesn't say how short a stay it ended up being, but I guess they didn't know."

"Doesn't say you're immortal either."

"Someone should really speak with the curator."

"Someone should. The craftsmanship, Book. Holds up."

"Doesn't it? I was really good. Hard to believe I got caught." He rubbed his neck.

"Thought you were in Paris then."

"I was, but I had papers."

"Marseille wants to celebrate their hometown boy?"

"Something like that."

"We should definitely take a selfie."

He shook his head. "Bad idea."

"Come on, our phones are locked down and stuff. It'll be fun."

"I don't know if I want to commemorate that."

"Oh." Now Nile felt bad. "Okay."

"I just uh...of all the bad mistakes in my life, it starts here. I should have known better after—but I didn't."

"Yeah, but you know how not to get caught now."

He snorted. "You think so?"

Okay, Copley, but that was definitely not all on Booker, at least not at first. The guy had just figured it out. "Mostly? Hey, I'm not bored, but I do want to hit one of the art museums today."

"Yeah, great. This trip down memory lane? Is that the phrase?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah. It sucks, actually. Let's get lunch and find some naked people to stare at."

"Yeah," Nile said before she could think better of it. "It's been a while."

He half-smiled and quirked an eyebrow, nodding. "There's a Lebanese place a few blocks away."

"Oh, yes." The good stuff. She'd eaten more Lebanese in the last year than she was going to admit to the rest of the family. Part of it was some level of trying to make her life normal—there was a great carryout place near her high school in Chicago—and part of it was, well, the stuff was damn delicious.

She ordered, because she needed the French practice, and they shared kafta and kibbeh and walked away with a chocolate babka. If there was one upside to all this gallivanting around the old world with a seemingly limitless supply of money, it was the food. Also, her body handled food really well. The others warned her that her body could change, muscles could deteriorate somewhat if not looked after (which she questioned, because, well, Booker, but okay), but they could also be built up, she could gain and lose weight to some extent although not a whole lot, evidently, but despite all that, no matter how much grease or sugar or alcohol or apples or, or whipped cream she ate, she never had digestive issues, not even heartburn. Fucking glorious. Too much caffeine could still cause jitters, but they didn't last.

They caught the metro to the Musee d'Arts Africains, Oceaniens et Amerindiens because it looked weird and cool and different, and they could check out the Euro offerings any time in the next two weeks. It was modest for a museum. Set in an old asylum, it housed Greek, Roman, and Egyptian displays, as well as artifacts from the new world and Pacific islands. Mostly pottery and masks, but they were all selected for their artistic value, not merely historical value, so it was a lovely collection and they stayed a couple hours.

Nile loved to see art history considered from this perspective. Western Europe and the US didn't have a monopoly on art, and traditional crafts were very much an art form, obviously. It was nice to see actual exhibits with that focus, and it reminded her how much she wanted to study it, get a degree and everything. She mentioned as much to Booker as they stood in front of the Greek amphorae.

"Sure, yeah. You should. We've all done it at some point. Nicky went to medical school. A long time ago, though."

"You have a degree?"

"I do."

"In what?"

"Education."

She nearly dropped her phone. "What?"

"What? I can teach. I'm great with kids."

_You're a messy drunk criminal hacker forger who kills people for money,_ she did not say. "I just wouldn't have guessed."

"Yeah. Taught sixth form in Newcastle for three years."

"Is that like sixth grade?"

"Sixteen to seventeen."

"Oh. No. Eleventh grade."

"You don't see me as a teacher?"

"I mean...well…"

"I've been teaching you fighting stuff."

"Yeah, 'cause Andy will kick your ass if I waste a whole year and don't learn a few new punches."

"Well. Sorry to disappoint."

"No, I—you do good teaching _me_ , I just never thought about it. Like how would they focus?"

He had taken a breath to say something, but he paused, his eyes widening in confusion. "What?"

"Um. I mean." Bad choice of words. Very bad. Now she sounded like she was picturing a student writing "LOVE YOU" on her eyelids at Indiana Jones. "Like. Teens are not super forgiving and if you're two hundred years old they will notice you're weird."

He shrugged. "They just thought I was funny. They liked the rabbit story."

"...Rabbit story?"

Booker started to answer, but a group of tourists came in with their phones out for taking pictures, so they headed out and walked to the metro station. He picked it up on the way. "Napoleon got attacked by a bunch of rabbits, it was a glorious thing I wish I'd known about when I was being killed for his stupid ego trip. They should've finished him off."

"What, like Monty Python?"

"God, I wish. No, it was supposed to be a rich asshole rabbit hunt, but the gamekeeper collected domestic bunnies instead of wild ones, and naturally, they all hopped toward the man who might have food on him. Thousands, supposedly."

"That sounds...cute, mostly."

"You're telling me you wouldn't flinch at a swarm of three thousand rabbits all coming at you?"

She tried to picture it, but now she just wanted to go to Petco and hold the bunnies. "Do they bite, and do I have area of effect spells?"

"You get...a hunting rifle." A tourist eyed them and moved away. The metro pulled up, and they got on.

"Hmm, good enough. Nah, not scary. They're bunnies! My brother and I used to go to the pet store and hold the bunnies, but we couldn't afford to have one. He charmed the manager, so we could just do that."

He didn't say anything for a minute, so she looked over to see him watching her with a funny look.

Not a funny look. He just looked fond, as one does of one's family.

The metro ride back to the motel was quick, and Booker took a nap with his plush dolphin while Nile opened a book. The three foot long, glittery, bright blue stuffed animal was newly reclaimed from a safe house that had no water or electricity, so Nile made an executive decision not to stay there. Since they weren't in a safe house, they got one room. It was just easier. Also, everyone in the family was old and paranoid and protective of each other. Joe and Andy called her every other day to make sure she hadn't been kidnapped or betrayed or killed unnecessarily, which was sweet, if a little annoying. Booker was marginally different in that he treated her as barely younger than him but was still protective.

They'd taken a year off of missions, which was a weird break for Nile since she hadn't spent that much time actually doing them after being declared officially dead, but really, Booker needed it. Probably.

What she wanted was to ease into this. She'd been thrown into the whole thing very hard, and spending a year just chilling and sightseeing with the Napoleon-era guy was at least easier to grasp than killing people with the possibly antediluvian woman and the sack of Jerusalem men, even if the French dumbass would not stop drinking.

She thought about the rabbits again, and her brother holding the rabbits, and promising him they'd both get to college, even if they had to take the long way there. He was bright and messy and he'd been in and out of trouble but had been lucky enough to avoid situations with the law.

What was he doing now? What was Mom doing? Michael had wanted to be a vet, but was willing to settle for some kind of cool Bachelor's degree. When Nile had died, Michael was working at a grocery store and taking classes at the community college.

God, she missed him. It wasn't fair that they had to go through this again. It wasn't fair that Michael didn't have his big sister and it wasn't fucking fair that Nile could never see her own mother again.

She'd flipped about three pages without actually reading any, and her throat hurt.

"What is it?" Booker asked from the other bed, his voice low and kind without condescension.

"Shit," Nile muttered, wiping away the tears that had emerged. "Nothing."

"Come on, kid."

The problem with living forever was that it became too easy to wait until tomorrow to think about things that sucked. To work through things she had to work through.

Which was probably what was wrong with Booker, really, and she didn't want to head down that road. Well...she didn't want to get too far down that road. A short jaunt couldn't be too bad, could it?

Like say, a year and a half.

Okay. Yeah.

That was probably long enough. Because she was starting to see how that could turn into two hundred years pretty quick. "I miss my mom," she confessed, sniffling.

"Yeah," Booker said, looking down. "It's gotta be worse when they're there, but you can't get to them. I'm sorry."

"I haven't even checked up on them." She dug the heel of her hand into her eye socket as if she could pretend she was done crying. "I could've checked Facebook or something."

"You want me to? I'll do it for you."

"No. No." But didn't she? Wouldn't it help to know what Michael was up to? "Maybe."

"Whenever you want."

Nile wondered how old she'd be when Mom died. When Michael died. Still looking twenty-six. Fuck, this wasn't helping. "Okay. Uh. Yeah. Maybe. Shit. I don't know." She almost said "Sorry," but she'd spent a year living with this guy and he didn't apologize for his feelings very often. "This sucks. God, I should've asked the guys how long it takes to stop missing your family so bad."

Booker rolled off his bed and sat down beside her. "Don't know if they'd have an answer for you. They have each other." But he put his arm around her, and that was something.

Actually, that was a lot, feeling targeted human warmth from her friend trying to give her comfort, and there were some feelings, there were many feelings. She cried some more. It didn't feel like she was working through anything, but it had to happen.

It didn't fix anything but he held her as she cried herself out and it sure as hell was better than being alone.

"Do you believe in God?" she asked later, after dinner. Nile was trying and failing to read, and Booker had just come out of the shower, his hair shaking droplets into his eyes. She immediately regretted asking the question now, because she'd spoiled her opening to suggest he try bangs or something. Not that his hairstyle was bad, because it wasn't, but like, the man could try something new.

She did want to know, though. She'd spent a year hanging out with Booker and trying to avoid the stuff that mattered because what if the stuff that mattered didn't work out, or hurt?

"I don't know," Booker said, toweling off his hair. "Why?"

"Just wondering, I guess. I know Andy doesn't."

"I was raised Catholic, well, mostly, but it didn't really stick. Couldn't connect with it, I guess."

"Maybe you'd like Protestant stuff."

He hung his towel over the bathroom door. "I'm going to be very honest because you're family: It will probably not stick either. But if you want to tell me about it, I'll listen."

"I'd like that." Nile remembered why she'd asked. "I was just thinking I haven't gone to church in—since everything, actually. I might go to one on Sunday."

"You want company?"

"You don't have to."

"I'll go with you if you want."

"I...thanks."

"Haven't been to mass since...God, since I lost my oldest. I don't think I've ever been inside a Protestant church."

"In two hundred years?"

"There's a lot of stuff I haven't bothered to do in two hundred years. Find a religion I like, for one."

"Have you been trying any out?" Nile asked.

Booker shrugged. "Not really, but…"

"But?" she prodded.

"My mother was Jewish. Or her mother was. It's complicated. Anyway, I wasn't raised that way, but I wish I'd listened to her more before she died. Other than that, nothing."

"Oh. You could though, I mean, there's resources if you—but you already know that."

"Yeah. It takes committing to beliefs and places and people and…" He spread his arms. _Look at me, imagine this mess making those commitments._ Ironically, it would be very good for him, Nile thought, but it would be like pulling teeth to persuade him of that. "Anyway," he continued, "I'll go with you to mass—to…services?"

"I'll find a place."

They changed and went to bed, and Nile said, "Thanks for earlier."

"Yeah, always. I have some memory that we're supposed to be a union."

"I don't remember collectively bargaining for hugs."

"It's in the union charter, actually."

"Damn, I've been missing out on benefits."

Booker laughed, a low, guttural chuckle, which made Nile laugh too. "And after all the strikes, Nile, really."

"I know, I know, what would, uh, Karl Marx say, or…something."

He snorted and she laughed harder. "Debs and Chavez maybe?"

"Shh, I'm going to bed," she declared, still giggling.

"Sleep well, that's another benefit in the charter."

She threw a pillow at him, which was met with an _oof_ , and then he curled himself around it.

"Thank you," he yawned, hugging it to his chest. "Now go to sleep."

Butthead. She thought about throwing her other pillow at him, but it had her silk pillowcase on it, and she didn't want to get up to reclaim it. "If you're keeping my pillow, give me your dolphin."

It hit her in the chest. The thing was a little musty but pleasantly squishy. She snuggled it against her, and sleep came quickly enough.

He went with her on Sunday to church. It was all in French but she understood most of it, and it was not a Black American church so it was different, but there was some core stuff that was the same, and that was nice, that was something, and when her eyes burned a little because she was supposed to be in church with Mom and Michael, he squeezed her hand.

They spent a few more days in Marseille before taking a train to Genoa. Nile felt a little guilty visiting without Nicky, because he had mentioned wanting to show her around, but she dragged Booker to an aquarium and wandered through a few cathedrals alone in the couple days they were there. The second day, she returned to the hotel in the afternoon to find Booker on the phone plush in his lap. He held up a finger. "I know it's unusual," he said in French. "But that's what the quadruple pay is for. Think of it as, you can afford to take on patients who need it and can't afford it with the money you'll make from me, even if it seems silly. I want to get this right." He paused briefly, and then replied, "Yes. Great. Thank you. Right. I'll speak with you then. No, I'd prefer not to do video chat. I'm trying out a Thomas Pynchon sort of thing here. Okay. Great. Thank you. Goodbye." He slipped his phone into his pocket, sank down onto the couch, squeezed the dolphin tight, and let out a slow breath.

"You good?" Nile asked.

He nodded. "I'm, uh, taking some advice I've been putting off for a year. Or fulfilling obligations or something." His jaw clenched for a second. "It's not going to be fun."

"Are you writing a book?"

"No, I'm lying about writing a book about a fucked up guy with immortality so I can talk to a professional because spinning my wheels isn't good enough for Nicky and…" He took a deep breath and let it out. "...it's not good enough for me either. And I really don't want to, but I guess I have to."

He looked so painfully forlorn that Nile said, "Need to cash in any union benefits?"

"What? Oh...I'm all right, I'm...I'm...yeah." He dropped his head into his hands so she sat next to him and got an arm around his back.

"I'm glad you're doing this." This would be good. He might be less fun for a while, or maybe not. Booker was a funny sort of friend, depressed and a little drunk most of the time, but almost always able to crack a smile or share in a joke if Nile tried to talk to him. He hid some feelings and let others float to the surface.

He sighed through his fingers. "I know. I know. It's not normal to hurt this much after two hundred years. With Quynh back, I...I dream about them _all the time_. My oldest most often, he's covered in blood—He was murdered, did I ever say that?"

"Book—"

"And I didn't tell you about the nightmares, because you don't need that shit, you have your own problems."

"I mean, that's true, but—"

"So, I'm...I'm trying something different and...I don't know, but…"

"Yeah. It's good."

He lifted his head. "Uh, but, I don't want you thinking you can't talk to me about your shit. I'm old and stupid but I don't want you to end up like me and you're important to me and I can handle it."

"Okay." Nile put her other arm around him in an awkward side hug that he sort of reciprocated by touching her shoulder and tilting his head to lightly bop hers. He turned to her, meeting her eyes, licked his lips like he was going to say something, squinted, and flicked his gaze down and then quickly back up to her eyes. It was weird and not weird. They'd been living in each other's space for a year, but there was an intensity to his expression she was trying not to interpret. Not right now. She could barely breathe anyway.

Then he widened his eyes, clicked his tongue, and asked, "How disappointed will you be if I open that bottle of whiskey right now?"

She leaned back. "I get it. I might not get it forever."

"Thanks." He got up and poured a tumbler. "Oh, hey, how was the sightseeing?"

Joe and Nicky were already in the Rome safe house when Nile and Booker got there. They scooped her up and showered her in hugs and even a few gifts. Nicky made some beautiful pasta and veggie dish with fresh mozzarella and aged Parmesan with weird but delicious crystals. Joe asked where they'd gone, and Nicky's expression changed just enough to look betrayed when Nile confessed they'd come from Genoa. After their late lunch, Nicky and Booker sat on the balcony alone, but after a bit, Nicky hugged him and they came back inside. In the meantime, Joe asked Nile how she was getting along, and she admitted some days were harder than others, but Booker was good company. He smiled and agreed, but it wasn't his radiant sunshine smile; more like a partly cloudy one. Fair enough.

Andy and Quynh got in late, which Nicky had planned for, and a lovely steak dinner fit for a fancy restaurant was on the table the moment they tossed their bags into their bedroom. Only after dinner did Andy give Nile a greeting hug.

If she ever started keeping a diary, she was going to have to find new words for "hug" because it was _all_ these old people did, not that she was complaining. Two years after Merrick and a year and a half after Quynh showed herself, and there was a lot of tension around, but they were all trying to move past it. After dinner and dishes, they sprawled out in the main room and Joe told a story from Al-Andalus in the 13th century.

Booker didn't drink even when Andy opened a bottle of wine, and that was weird, but Nile decided to count her blessings. They were a tired, messy family, but they were good, and they were hers.


	8. we're all so gay. and high

2024\. Hamburg, Germany

The peace didn't last. A month later, Copley hit them with a mission to rescue some kidnapped children which was almost cliche but it was real, so it was just horrific, but they got them out. Joe and Booker shepherded the little ones to safety, Andy and Nile infiltrated the warehouse, and Nicky and Quynh got up high and guarded everyone's backs. Smooth, at first, and then it hit a snarl when the other half of the group returned from wherever they had gone. Bullets flew. Booker and Joe put their bodies between the violence and the children, and it all turned out okay, because they told the kids they had bulletproof jackets and just got the wind knocked out of them, but there were some tense moments while Nile and Andy cleared the floor and the kids had two half-dead guys trying to keep them from looking.

Two of the kids wailed. Just wailed, and that was better than dead silence, wasn't it? Was it?

They got them out and got them free and that was what mattered, maybe, but they were all orphans or migrants whose families had been lost in the system. Copley promised to try. In the meantime, they had to be turned over to the state. He told them to take a break; that their job was over and it was on him now to make sure they found safe homes. Booker nearly cried when he had to detach the little girl clinging to his leg, but he talked her down from a fit and sent her with the others.

They went to the Hamburg safe house and showered it all off. Joe and Nicky went first. Andy and Quynh went last. The flat didn't have separate bedrooms, just a couple large beds and a sofa in the main room, so when Andy came out of the shower, she sprawled on the bed, then rolled over and said, "Nicky, you think there's anything left in that stash?"

"That was good stuff," he said, rising and opening a cabinet. "I hope it hasn't gone bad." He procured a small rectangular coffee can labeled "Schütz Kaffee" and opened it up. "Looks okay, I think."

Were the old folks really going to smoke weed, Nile wondered?

Yeah. They were. Nicky removed a glass pipe and a tiny baggie of green stuff from the tin. It was weird, but when you were unkillable and had forever, yeah, okay. They did live through the '60s and '70s.

Andy took the first hit and passed it around. Nile hadn't smoked pot or anything at all in ten years, but that mission had sucked and it seemed to be a family activity, so she took part. They all ended up on the bigger bed. Andy and Quynh were wrapped around each other, trading tiny kisses and staring into each other's eyes. Joe lay spread eagle in the middle of the bed, Nicky curled against him on one side, Booker's head resting on his other shoulder. Nile wormed her way between Booker and Quynh, resting her head on his bicep. Quynh giggled as Andy pecked her nose. Drugs were fake, but the calm and dissolution of most of the tension and the excuse—not that the olds needed one—to snuggle with everyone was probably a good thing. Maybe it would last.

After a very loud smacky kiss, Nile decided to start some kind of conversation to make it less weird. Unfortunately, she couldn't think straight and her conversation starter was inspired by the moment. "Hey. Family history time. Who was everyone's first kiss?"

"Ah," Joe yawned. "Thinking back, one moment. Maryam. My neighbor. I was twelve I think. But my first real kiss was Hasan, another merchant's son. From Al-Andalus."

Nicky kissed his cheek. "It was Yusuf, of course."

"Aww," Nile said, along with Quynh, Andy, and Booker.

"Aw," Joe said. "He's lying."

Nile lifted her head. "Ooh. Now we're getting interesting."

Nicky sighed. "His name was Adamo. He was another priest in training. He was not the love of my life, so I do not think of him."

"That's sweet." No one said anything else, so Nile reached over and poked Andy.

"Ow," she complained. "Uh. I'm too old for this. I have no idea. Probably a girl. Maybe not. It's long gone."

"I also don't quite remember," Quynh said, "but there was a girl who used to bring me pomegranates. I think I kissed her. That's all I recall."

"I remember," Booker said slowly. "Remy. He was my first everything." Nile forced herself not to comment that she _knew_ it. She'd wondered if he was just European, but he did not have the token straight friend vibe at all. "Taught me metalworking and forgery. He was better at papers then, and I was better at counterfeiting coins. He got executed, I moved to Paris and learned no lessons."

Nile gasped. "He got executed? Oh my god."

"For the crime of undermining governmental bureaucracy and financial systems in the uh, blue-collar way, I guess."

"That's awful."

"Mmhmm. You go."

"Uh, shit, okay. Alana, fifteen, locker room. Wow, we're all so gay. Okay okay, so who was everyone's last kiss? Present company excepted, obviously."

Joe hummed. "Forster, right? Edward? It's been such a long time."

"It was him," Nicky agreed. "He was very sweet."

Yeah, didn't surprise Nile at all that Joe and Nicky were having threesomes with iconic gay authors. Andy just said, "Didn't ask his name. Still don't care."

"I don't remember. I have only had Andy since…" Quynh was cut off as Andy kissed her again.

"Book's turn," Joe said.

Booker was quiet for a minute. "Camille," he finally said.

"Jason," Nile finished. "Art student, before I got deployed. Wait, who's Camille?"

"His wife," Andy said, her voice a little muffled.

Nile felt like she should have known that. "You haven't kissed anyone in two hundred years?"

Booker's voice was weird and flat. "No."

"But you're not bad looking."

"What?"

"I just mean. Shut up! I'm just saying you're—it's not out of the realm of possibility—you have a face I'm sure someone would want." Now she was talking way too much and he was looking at her and everyone was laughing and thank god they couldn't see her blush because her cheeks were burning.

"We are not laughing at you, Nile," Nicky said. "You have reminded us about something."

"Nooo," Booker whined, but Joe caught his breath and ruffled Booker's hair.

"This man has never known when someone was trying to seduce him."

"That's not true."

"You thought Josephine Baker was bullying you."

"She was!" Booker insisted, as Nicky and Andy laughed.

"She was trying to sleep with you," Andy said.

"Josephine Baker?" Nile said, her head buzzing with more than weed. "You could've slept with Josephine Baker and you didn't?"

"There's a list," Joe said, laughing.

"Please, not in front of Nile," Booker begged.

"James Dean, right in front of Paul Newman, who was very offended, let's see, who else?"

"Simone de Beauvoir," Nicky offered helpfully.

"I hate you all," Booker complained.

"Zelda Fitzgerald. Bernstein, I believe? Walt Whitman."

"The point is," Joe said, "yes, a lot of people wanted his face."

"Who are these people?" Quynh demanded.

"Artists," Andy said, "so obviously people who had 'cries over fungal colonies' on their checklist."

Booker groaned and covered his face, so Nile said, "Okay, new subject, we have rules."

"You have rules?" Quynh asked.

"New topic, no pile-ons."

"Fair enough," Andy said, and asked Quynh to tell a thousand year old story.

Nile sat on the roof later with Booker. "So...not to be weird, I shouldn't be prying but I'm wondering about my own life, I guess."

"Yes?"

"Why have you been, you know, a monk, since you, since everything?"

"Ah." Booker fidgeted. "I didn't want to do it to someone else. People get fucked up when they know what we are. Camille's last words to me were 'selfish bastard' while she drowned in her own phlegm." He was a little red-eyed, but that might've just been the weed.

"Oh, god. I'm sorry, you don't have to continue."

"No, it's okay. I—you know, though? Copley sold us to Merrick. I mean, I did, but he was the reason. My children stopped talking to me or lied to me and they all hated me. This thing we have. Good health and longevity. Learning it's real and then learning it's out of their reach. It messes up their brains. I can't blame them for it. They don't know how bad it is on this side. I thought if I did that to someone again, I'd hate myself that much more. I'd have ruined another person I cared about."

"I guess one night stands aren't your thing, huh," she tried, feeling guilty for bringing it all up.

"No, not really," he agreed with a pained smile.

"Yeah," she admitted. "Me neither."

"We can't all be Andy."

"Right."

Booker took a sip of the thirty-year-old Riesling. "I lied, anyway. I just didn't want to be the one to tell Quynh. It was over a century ago and it lasted a couple weeks and it didn't work. But that was it."

Nile was still a bit buzzy and tried to put this together. "Quynh shouldn't know because...you...slept with...Andy! Oh. Got it." He nodded, and Nile felt so painfully young, like a child compared to her family. Even Booker was ancient, had had decades and centuries to gain life experience she didn't have. And everyone had fucked someone in the group except her, which was fine, it wasn't like she had it on her to-do list just to do it. Still, life must be a lot better when you're Joe ampersand Nicky, or even Andy ampersand Quynh, and not just Nile, comma, space, new subject, and Booker, period. And even if she were angling to change that, which she was _not_ , absolutely not, well, the math was just a mess. Half the older person's age plus 7, right? So, B/2 + 7 = N where B = N + 223 and then a whole lot of algebra and it would be the year 2202 when that would be appropriate, and yes, she did the math one time as a thought experiment; it wasn't that she was interested, obviously, it was strictly a practical consideration given that the others were all paired up. Obviously.

He leaned his head on her shoulder and the stars seemed a little brighter tonight.


	9. it's real i stole it 100 years ago

2025\. Brussels.

One fun ladies' night turned into ladies' months, and while Joe and Nicky took some time and worked in a refugee camp, the women traveled, made themselves useful, moved money to people who needed it, and handled one of Copley's jobs. Booker was on standby to make papers and fool databases for them, but he voluntarily spent a few months alone in a Brussels safe house and whenever Nile asked what he was doing, he was very cagey.

Finally, he invited Nile and the others to join him whenever they were in the neighborhood, if they wanted, anyway. Andy and Quynh didn't have the same notions of privacy that Nile did, but they tried to accommodate her, so they snagged a hotel room of their own for a couple nights while she took the train to Belgium.

The door was locked, and Nile contemplated picking it just to show off, but they were all a little paranoid and breaking into Booker's space was probably a bad idea. She texted him instead. Her phone buzzed the second she'd sent it, with a message from Joe.

_Copley sent us a time-sensitive one in Bruges but we're not in the area, are you? Shouldn't take the whole family._

_Pass it on,_ she replied. _Book and I are nearby._ She probably should've asked him first, but oh well. The door clicked open.

He looked good. He looked better, maybe sober, or more sober than before. Same hairstyle. Nile switched hers up a lot, but she wasn't two hundred fifty-five. Probably at that point, if you found a workable one, you stuck with it for a few years or decades or until you started looking wildly out of touch.

She was staring.

"Hey, come in. Are the others here?"

"Nope, they got a room for a couple nights."

"Good for them." Booker stood aside to let her in and locked the door behind her. The place was nicer than a lot of their spaces. Old, obviously, but clean, with reasonably updated appliances and light blue paint. The house smelled like paint, although not really normal interior paint. The heavy curtains on the clean windows were open to let the sun in. Nile set her bags down and put the grocery bag on the table.

He heard the clink and asked, "You brought wine?"

"Not exactly." It was sparkling pear cider and he could find out later. "Hey, what the hell, I haven't seen you like five months."

He blinked at her like a deer in the headlights, and then said, "Oh, okay, it's all on me?"

"You're the host," she retorted, barely hiding her smile.

"Okay. All right. Fine," he said, affronted, and he marched over to her, put his arms around her, and lifted her off the floor. "Since it's all on me," he said as she giggled and tried to stabilize herself, "I guess I get to set the terms too."

Nile caught her breath. "You wanna be a smartass, muscle man? I can do this all day, can you?"

"You know I'm always one to back down from a challenge," he said, and he set her down. "Anyway, I have that souvenir you asked for. Sort of."

It was nice to be loved. "You do?"

"Yeah. I've had it stashed for a while, but I've been fixing it. Or...conserving, I guess. Doing it right, I think. Things change, I've been researching—"

He was talking just to talk so Nile cut him off. "Okay! What is it?"

"In here." He ushered her into one of the bedrooms, which had been converted into a studio. Her attention was immediately drawn to the canvas set against the wall. It was huge, 5'x6' or so and depicted a probably inappropriately light-skinned man standing trial. Mother of god, the art style was familiar.

"That—you've been conserving that?"

"Yep, it's almost done. I just need to put the top varnish on once the reversible touch up paints dry."

The trial. The pretty subject. "Is that—is that a Carpaccio?"

"Oh, you know it." Booker looked very pleased.

"Is that the missing St. Stephen?" Nile demanded. It was precisely in the style of the others she'd seen, and she knew one had disappeared.

"I lifted it in 1890. I always meant to do something with it, but, ah." He half-smiled. "There are a lot of things I never got around to."

"But, this is—this looks _great_ , this thing is five hundred years old! You did all this?"

"Yeah, had to remove some bad restoration work. It's all reversible now. I did some art forgery back in...I don't remember, but a lot of the skills transfer, it turns out."

"And you stole it? From where?"

"Some rich bastard in Paris. We cleared out his vault, gave all the stuff to the people who were supposed to have it, but this one we couldn't track, so I took it."

"It's amazing." She wanted to touch it. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Oh, I, I thought you might want it."

"Wait, wha—you—you're giving me a missing Carpaccio?" After five years with the family, she could still be shocked.

"You liked Andy's Rodin, I thought, I don't know." He turned red and Nile was overcome with affection for him.

"No, I—thank you. I don't even know what to say. It's beautiful. I have no idea what I'll do with it, but I love it. It's not even my birthday."

"I know, I know when your birthday is." The color receded from his face a bit.

"Hey, uh, it's good to see you again," she tried. "I missed you."

"Me too. I needed the space, but...it wasn't exactly fun being alone."

"How are you doing? You look good."

"Yeah. I'm all right. I've been trying to take my therapist's advice more lately. Seems to help. How are you getting on these days?"

"I'm fine. Yeah. I'm dealing with…" She waved her arm. "...everything. When I'm not, I tell someone. It's not foolproof, but I'm okay."

"God, you're brave," he muttered.

"I guess. Every day I feel so guilty, like I need to check on my mom and brother but I can't."

Booker rubbed his neck. "Do you want to know? It's, um, it's all good."

"Oh." He'd already done it. "Yeah."

"Your mom is getting remarried next year. I did a full check on the guy, he's good."

Wow. So she had moved on from everything.

"And Michael is in his last year of vet school. Good grades, too. I, uh, paid down some loans for him. They were way too high."

"They're okay," Nile said. They'd moved on without her. It was everything she wanted, so why did it hurt?

"Are you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so." It was good, of course it was good. She would hate for them to be stuck treading water just because she was gone.

He didn't say anything, just gave her a warm, long hug. The world made a little more sense. Her family was okay! Even better, her wonderful, amazing best friend had quietly helped them be a lot less in debt. They weren't alone, they were doing the things they wanted, and Nile had a new home with her new family and she wasn't hurting her old family. Yeah. She was okay.

"Thanks," she said.

He let her go. "Always."

Nile's phone buzzed. "Oh, shit," she said. "I forgot, Joe wanted us to do something in Bruges, I don't know what. You up for it?"

"Probably, what is it?"

The phone kept buzzing. "He's calling, hang on. Oh, it's James." She picked up and put it on speaker. "Hey, what's up? Booker and I are in the area."

Copley's voice crackled. "Hi. It should be a quick in and out, no fighting. I need you to replace one hard drive with a different one; I'll send you the files."

"You know we're mercenary soldiers, right?" Booker said. "Not the Leverage team."

"What team?" Copley asked, and Nile whispered _Wildcats_ , earning her a very confused look from Booker.

"Never mind. Send us the info. Deadline?"

"Tomorrow night."

"We're in," Nile said. _Are we in?_ she mouthed, and Booker gave a light nod.

Copley said goodbye and hung up, and Nile went back to looking at the five hundred year old painting.

It was a lot. It was a hell of a gift. She didn't even know what to do with the feelings bubbling in her chest let alone how to really properly respond.

"This is amazing, really," she said again. "I wish I had time to take it in. After the mission, I guess."

"Yeah, it's not an obligation, it's more like a...welcome to history present, I guess. I got a four hundred year old print of the Divine Comedy."

"No, I know. Four hundred? You still have it?"

"Somewhere. I think I left it in Tunis."

They looked at the mission brief and made a plan over dinner. The bottle of cider went in the fridge. Celebrate tomorrow after the job was done.

"What is wildcats?" Booker asked.

"Oh, High School Musical. Big thing for people my age. What's a Leverage team?"

"TV show. I was watching it back when, before Quynh showed up."

"Oh, right, they're like, Robin Hood types? I think I saw some tweets about it."

"Yeah. It's sweet. I liked it."

Since one of the beds had been taken apart to make room for a hobby studio, Nile persuaded Booker to let her have the couch. It was basically his space anyway; he could stay in the bed.

She didn't usually have bad dreams. The real stuff usually fucked with her during the day when she bothered to think about it, or when she couldn't stop thinking about it. So it was weird when she jerked awake in the middle of the night with a horrible sick feeling and her hand pressed against her neck. The details of the dream were gone, but it didn't matter.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Booker grunted from the kitchen. She hadn't even noticed him.

"No, I… Dream, I think."

"You all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah." She lay back down and shut her eyes. It took probably an hour to fall back asleep, but mercifully, the next time she opened her eyes, it was morning and Booker was making tea and eggs.

The mission should've been easy. Drive to Bruges, find the office building using the precise directions Copley had given them, go inside with the fake keycards using Booker and Copley's combined skills, hack the lockpad on the server room, find the drive they wanted, steal it, replace it. That all went to plan.

They didn't have weapons because it wasn't supposed to be a dangerous job. Nile hit first floor on the elevator and it went down. And didn't stop. "Shit," she said.

"This was too easy," Booker groused as the door opened to the underground parking garage, where four security officers had guns leveled at them.

"What's this about?" Nile demanded. She didn't want to kill anyone if she could help it.

"You don't belong here. You've been off camera. The boss wants to speak to you."

"We're new," Booker tried.

Nile stepped forward. "Let's just—" But one of the guards raised his gun and before she could say anything more, Booker had thrown himself in front of her to take the bullet, which was swiftly followed by three more. "Damn it," she snapped, and she went to work. A few bullets hit her, nowhere that was unmistakably vital, but still painful as hell, as she disarmed and knocked them silly with the first one's billy club.

Fuck. She hated seeing him dead. She hated him being dead. She really hated him dying for her. That fucker.

Booker blinked alive and turned over as the bullets in him clinked on the concrete.

"You're an idiot," Nile said, helping him up. "And now we have security camera problems, I'm calling Copley. And I'm mad at you! What the fuck!"

"I—"

"Go!" She dragged him out of the garage and to the car. He called Copley, who said he'd fix the cameras before IT found the rootkit in the drive.

"Okay, now that that's done, what the fuck was that?'

"What was what?"

"You! Jumping in front like that!"

"They were going to shoot you!"

"I'm immortal too! I don't want you doing that for me."

"Just trying to look out for you."

"Okay, well don't. Not like that. You left me to deal with everything alone, and I had to—I hate seeing you dead, I can't stand you dying _for_ me for no reason, so, don't fucking do it, okay?" There was no point yelling, but she was doing it anyway. Her guts hurt. Her stomach hurt. Everything hurt.

"I'm sorry, but I can't promise you that." His voice was level but she refused to look at him. "I didn't think about it, I just did it."

"You always just do it! You tried to stop a building from falling on me! You jumped on a grenade for me!"

"That was years ago—"

"The dart thing, Booker! Remember?"

"Really? You're bringing that up too?"

"It's stupid! Stop it! It pisses me off! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"It made sense."

"If you think this is a way to atone or something, don't. No one asked you to. I sure as hell didn't."

"Okay! I'll…" He huffed. "Try, I guess." He turned away and stared out the window.

In the reflection, she could see his eyes watering, which also sucked. She didn't want to hurt him. She was just really upset and wanted him to stop and the only thing to do was yell until some kind of concession shook out.

And now he was crying.

Fuck. She hadn't even said the next line cued up, which was "Do not work out your suicidal shit on me" which would have been brutal. But she had feelings and traumas and hurts too.

The drive took an hour. Nile made Booker take the first shower and went to get takeout. By the time she got back with it, he was reading on the couch, clean and mostly dry.

"Dinner's here," she said.

"Thanks."

They were quiet and cautious and it was actually worse than the weird conversations they'd had after Merrick. She sat alone at the table while he stayed on the couch.

The message was received though. No reason to draw it out. Nile popped the pear cider and poured it in a couple glasses. "We mostly succeeded," she said, raising hers.

He acknowledged that and raised his glass half-heartedly. "Yeah."

She drank a sip and then said, "Hey, um. If you want to look out for me, please don't peace out in the middle of a fight. That's all. Well, that's not _all_ , but that's basically what I'm asking for."

"I get it." Booker swirled the fizzy cider around his cup. "I can't do everything that you want me to do."

Yeah, well. Now she sounded childish for even asking, which was fucking unfair, because what she was asking wasn't hard or out of line. But this tension was miserable, and she was too young to let it simmer for days. "You could try."

That got a smile from him. "Yes, your majesty." He finally drank his cider. "You want the bed tonight?"

"No." That felt harsh as she said it. "The couch is fine. It's fine."

Booker grunted and silence fell between them for a few minutes. They ate, listening to the noise of the city and a neighbor's flute practice.

Finally, Nile couldn't stand it anymore, and she stood up, crossed over to Booker, and put her arms around him. He tucked his head against her shoulder, his hands on her back. He was warm. He was warm and felt nice. Maybe too nice.

She let go. "Think I could use some more cider."

He nodded and got up to take a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet. He only poured one drink before switching back to cider, though.

While he slept, she filled his flask with the rest of it.


	10. you have time and you have fingers and now you have a job

2027\. Bangkok.

"Does the shower work?" Nicky called, his voice echoing inside the fridge he was currently cleaning.

"It works," Nile answered from the bathroom, "but we won't know for a while whether the hot water does. When was the last time you guys were here?"

"A couple years ago, I think. 1998, maybe."

"That is not a couple years, Nicky."

"It will be."

"That's ominous." The water stopped spitting and ran smoothly, so Nile turned it all off and went back to the kitchen. "Hey, are you okay?"

"I am." Nicky dried the fridge shelves and shut the door. "Why are you asking?"

"Just, that fight was not good."

"Ah, Joe getting killed like that."

"Yeah. I mean, I know I can't stand seeing...anyone, really, getting hurt that bad."

"No, I am fine. Such wounds are not so big anymore. In the moment I was angry, but it passes."

"You get used to it?"

"Yes. And no. You learn to face it. We have suffered far worse injuries. So have you. The only thing that truly frightens me is capture. If one of us is up and fighting, we are safe."

"Well, yeah." Nile started pulling dishes out of the cabinets to wash when Joe and Booker returned with dish soap. "But uh, like, it's really not fucked up to see your husband like that?" With his intestines falling out.

"Of course it is. It always will be. But it is over." He set some pots next to the sink. "If you are asking whether it is terrible to love someone and see their insides outside, yes, it is painful, but you still have someone to love."

Nile had not yet decided if that was a question she'd been asking.

"No matter what, he always comes back to me. I thank God for that blessing every day."

Joe and Booker returned from the grocery store and locked the door behind them. They were hiding out for an entire week, so the men were carrying a lot of bags. Things would cool down if they stayed low. That was the plan.

The plan was boring.

Nile was going to get a Switch and extra controllers to haul around. Then at least they could play Mario Party or something. There was a copy of the original Harry Potter book, six Thai books, _A Christmas Carol_ , an NIV Bible, a couple yellowing Nora Roberts paperbacks, three packs of playing cards, and the unabridged original French _Les Miserables_ , which Booker shoved to the back of the shelf with prejudice.

"We really need to kit these places out better," Nile said as Joe threw away the Harry Potter book. It was half-shredded and covered in mouse droppings. Good riddance. "Board games, puzzles, a pottery wheel, just literally anything."

Booker already had his nose in one of the Nora Roberts books. "Don't you have a laptop?"

Nile pulled it out of her backpack and held it up to show him the bullets that had gone through it. "Yup."

"Oh, well, write your novel on paper then. Aren't there some paints stashed somewhere?"

"They are completely dried out," Joe said. "There's nothing to paint on, anyway. I have a sketchbook, if you want to draw."

"I'm not writing a novel, why don't you, Mr. The Book?"

Booker yawned. "It's been sitting for fifty years. I don't remember where the papers are."

"What did you guys do back in the day?"

Joe leaned over the back of the couch. "Napped, talked, mended our clothes, gazed at the stars, told each other stories, had sex. We still do most of that."

"Sun's out and I'm not sleepy, so I guess just the talking is the only option."

"You could ask Booker," Joe said.

Booker covered his face with his book and groaned, "Oh my god," through gritted teeth.

"To talk with you, I meant."

"What's wrong with me?" Nile demanded.

Booker did not move his book. "No, there's nothing wrong with—this is a trap."

"Why is it a trap?" Then her brain caught up with her and she realized Booker was interpreting the whole thing as being about sex and she had not been. "Oh, I—come on! That's what I get for taking Joe at his word. I miss Andy and Quynh. Too many dudes around here, even if Nicky's wearing a frilly apron and Booker is reading chick lit."

"I like the happy endings," Booker muttered, finally peeking over the pages. "Andy is worse, don't kid yourself. The one time she has ever behaved was when you were new and she pretended to be indignant about the Rodin thing. Which was true, by the way. They did sleep together."

"Yeah, that's fair," Nile admitted.

"Mmhm," Booker grunted as he pulled out his flask. She knew he was working on his drinking, but they had just been through a stressful situation. She waited, though. He took a big swallow, paused with the flask still against his lips, turned his gaze to Nile, and just stared at her. She widened her eyes innocently. He kept drinking until she cracked and grinned. "How could you?" he lamented, but he drank the rest of the apple juice with his eyes fixed on hers until they both laughed.

"Oh, I know," Nile said a couple minutes later. "I need to do something with my hair. I haven't done box braids in ages, does anyone want to help me out? It's a pain in the ass, but we have time."

He set down his book. "That a union benefit?"

"No, I think we have to vote on that."

"Motion passes. I'll do it, just show me how."

"Should Nicky and I form a union?" Joe asked as they moved a slightly warped stand mirror in front of the couch so Nile could see what was happening.

"Do we need one?" Nicky asked.

"You guys are married," Nile pointed out.

"Sometimes marriage needs a charter and votes," Booker said. "Okay, how do I do this?"

It took several attempts, but she managed to show him the ropes and he settled in. She would have preferred to use extensions, but they didn't have any, and her hair was in good shape and fairly long, so they'd come out all right.

"Is marriage really that hard?" Nile asked as Booker finished the fourth braid. Sure, he got emotional talking about his wife and kids, but he always jumped at the chance anyway.

"Can be, yes." The end of the comb dragged across her scalp as he separated a fresh strand. "Especially when you don't have a lot of money, or when your wife doesn't like your job, or you have four kids and there's always some kind of violent class war you're all trying to dodge. God, Paris was shit in 1800."

"But other than that, Mrs. Lincoln?"

"What?"

"Uh, how was the play?"

"The what?"

"It's a thing people say in the states, I guess. Actually, you know what, it was shitty, sorry."

"Wait, no, explain this."

Nile sighed. "The joke is, 'but other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?' and you say it when people are complaining about stuff."

"What...play?"

"The one where President Lincoln got shot to death. I think it was _Hamlet_ , but that's not the point."

"Oh, okay, I get it."

"Yeah." She felt like a huge jerk, but he didn't sound bothered.

"Other than that, well, I loved her. She was beautiful, she was funny and she spoke her mind and she knew I was a thief and a criminal and I think we should have talked more about what that meant for us before we got married, but, well, you learn to let things go when you have to." He sectioned off a new braid, his fingers holding the rest of her hair back. It was nice to be taken care of.

Fuck, it was nice that he cared about getting it right, too. This union thing had been a great idea, although sometimes she worried she wasn't holding up her end of it. "Would you ever marry again? I mean, in theory, without the immortality thing."

"Right, that problem's easily solved."

"It's just a hypothetical."

"I don't know. I'm not pining for Camille, but it's...I don't know what I can offer."

"Shit, you think no one wants a guy who can forge passports and be taught to do hair well and easily? Come on."

"Yeah?" Booker said, almost perky, but didn't follow up on that. Nile was grateful.

The whole thing was weird.

Sometimes he looked at her and she couldn't breathe.

There was a certain inevitability to this on a pragmatic level, but she hated the thought that pragmatism was determining her love life. At least he was pretty. In any case, not yet. Should she sleep around first like Andy? That seemed sensible, but she didn't really want to. She'd never been that kind of free spirit. She'd been with five people, but there had always been something real there, whether it lasted a while or not.

What if Booker had no interest in her at all? She might just be a kid to him.

"What about you, was that part of your plans?"

Damn, talking about herself now. "Yeah, I think so. Wasn't sure about kids, but I guess that question got answered for me."

"Count your blessings, children are a curse."

"No, they're just small, confused people!"

He laughed a little at that. "Yeah. They are." He didn't seem as sad as he used to.

"You doing okay up there? I know I roped you into a long-ass tedious project."

"No, it's fine. It's kind of soothing."

That made sense. He was a fidgeter. "Do you knit?"

"Does darning socks count?"

"Maybe? I've never darned socks. I don't knit either, but I had a friend who was a big knitter."

Nicky and Joe came out of their bedroom and sat next to Booker on the couch. "How is it going?" Joe asked.

"I think I'm doing all right," Booker said.

Nicky peered over. "It looks nice."

"Remember when Andy wanted those Nordic braids but she couldn't get them right?" Joe said.

"Oh, yes, and we had to figure it out for her."

"I bet that looked hot," Nile said.

"It did," Joe agreed, "but there's an entire story here. You didn't hear it from me." He launched into a tale about Viking raiders in the British Isles, Andy and Quynh seducing three people at once, woad face paint, baths, and seven forest cats. It was easy to sit and listen with Booker's fingers working through her hair, gently tilting her head when needed and—fuck.

Life would probably be easier if he were not so pretty.

The braids held well. They all played dozens of card games over the next day. Booker disappeared into the bathroom for a long while and showered before dinner, and no one was asking. That was probably a good plan he had, and Nile was planning to do it too, except she was bad at working on a schedule, partnered or not. Still, she was getting frustrated, so she'd probably try before they escaped the damn place.

Nicky made a lovely stir fry with rice and wontons. His cooking staved off the stir-craziness a lot. The three sat down to dinner and Booker came out of the bathroom to join them. He looked weirdly nice. Or, no, he looked nice a lot, but he was more cheerful or something, which was _none_ of Nile's business until Joe said, "What happened to your face?"

"I was bored," Booker said, serving himself some wontons. Holy shit, he had shaved. She had never seen the lower half of his face.

"He doesn't shave in thirty years and suddenly the man's bored."

"I think you look nice," Nile said.

"He knows," Joe said.

"Thank you, Nile," Booker said pleasantly.

He didn't look all that different. She kind of thought it would be some dramatic change, like Joe, but no, he looked basically the same. Younger.

Also terribly cute.

"Maybe we will all change our styles this week," Nicky suggested.

"Time to fix those sideburns," Nile agreed as she popped a wonton in her mouth.

"What—" Nicky started just as the front door blew in.

How they were so quiet that even Nicky didn't hear them coming was a mystery, but the immortals scattered, going for their firearms. Nicky and Booker got to theirs first. Nile had left hers in her room, _fuck_.

There were four-five-six, six soldiers, mercs, probably sent by the guy whose life they'd tried to ruin a couple days ago, five with assault rifles, and one with a goddamn minigun, because _of course_ he brought a nuke to a gunfight, of course a posse chasing mercs of their caliber would prepare.

Nicky put holes in two of the mercs' heads in seconds, taking three shots to the gut. He dove behind the couch. Joe took out a third before a clip was emptied in his chest. Nicky snarled but stayed in cover, and the mercs turned to Booker, who had his gun aimed.

Nile saw it in slow motion. The minigun was spinning up to take him out and it was going to be gross and she was going to sit next to his shredded body until it repaired itself and he was the one with the gun and she had nothing but she could buy him and Nicky the time they needed.

She didn't think any longer. She just moved, throwing herself in the path of the absolute hail of bullets.

It _sucked_. They tore through her chest and torso and neck and _face_ because she was shorter than Booker and they were trying to kill _him_ and _god_ these weapons should be banned. Nile screamed in pain and rage and everything went black.

"Okay. I get it now. Come on. Time to wake up. Wake up, Nile. Please wake up."

The design of the self-healing was very stupid, Nile thought as the world came back and she was still in agony. "Is it bad?" she tried to ask. Stabbing pain lanced through her throat. She couldn't see; the gun must've fucked up her eyes. Something touched her hand, and she squeezed it.

There was a relieved sigh inches from her ear—she felt the breath—and Booker's voice saying, "I'm here. Nicky, is there any anesthetic in the house?"

"No," Nicky said from somewhere nearby.

"Fuck this," Nile growled, hurting her throat worse. She realized what she was holding was Booker's hand but she couldn't let go, couldn't stop her nails digging in, didn't want to hurt him, but god there was so much pain everywhere, and he was an anchor, he was safety, softness, warmth.

She heard the clink, clink, clink as her body pushed out the bullets and they rolled off her. Her sight came back, one eye at a time.

"Is everyone okay?" she asked, trying to sit up.

"We've gotta leave the country," Joe said, already up and changing. "Are you all right?"

"Yep, that sucked very hard, but I'm okay." She looked down. Blood covered what was left of her chest. "Damn it. That was my one good bra. That was the only bra I had here, fuck."

"Oh." Booker's hand was still clasped in hers, but he reached up to get the throw from the couch.

"It's not like you guys haven't seen my boobs before," she said, watching as her guts rebuilt themselves. "When they come back, anyway." It still hurt like hell, but with most of the skin webbing its way across her chest and stomach, a lot of the horror of it had subsided. She probably had about a minute, maybe two left of this bullshit.

"Take these," Nicky said, throwing jeans, a shirt, and a pair of underwear at Booker. "We need to go."

It was like being in the army, but with more men and less chance of sexual assault. (A lot less. Like 100% less.) Nudity and changing in front of fellow soldiers was expected and felt pretty normal by now. As the last of her insides disappeared behind her rebuilt outsides, a wet towel hit her stomach, and she started cleaning the blood off.

"Booker!" Joe called. "Let's move."

"We're talking about this," Booker said, easing his hand out of hers. He left her clothes on the couch and started throwing important things in bags. At least this safe house was in a pretty well-abandoned part of town. Still, automatic firearms were hard to ignore, and Bangkok was normally pretty peaceful these days. Nile cleaned the blood off herself quickly and changed her clothes.

"Oh, motherfucker," she said, feeling her neck.

"What is it?" Nicky asked, grabbing her towel and packing it too. Too much DNA on it. Anything on the floor was basically mixed up with the mortal mercs' blood and guts.

"My necklace. They shot off my necklace. My mom gave that to me." It wasn't expensive or an heirloom, but it was all she had left of her old family.

"I'm sorry, Nile. I know how much it means to you. But we need to go. Come on."

"I know. I'm coming." She wasn't going to cry. She was not going to cry.

Joe and Booker came out of the bedrooms with bags. Booker pressed Nile's gun into her hand and then paused, bent down, snatched something off the floor, and followed the other men out the door. Nile bit her lip and went with them. Joe took the wheel so Nicky got shotgun.

They escaped the city. They always did. Getting out of the country might be a little harder, but if they could get into Cambodia, Nicky and Joe knew a pilot who could smuggle them out of the area and back to more familiar haunts. (Tunis, Joe was thinking. He hadn't been home in many, many years.)

"Oh," Booker said suddenly as the countryside passed them. "I saw this on the floor." He held out her cross pendant, chainless and bloody but mercifully not damaged.

"Thank you," she whispered, because she was _not_ going to cry today.

"And I understand now about the sacrificing thing, it's awful."

"That was two years ago."

"Why did you jump in front of a minigun for me, Nile?" he asked calmly.

"Because you had a gun and I didn't."

"Sure, okay. Point made. I will...I will try. And I will disappoint you. I don't want to, but I will. We have eternity to fuck up and hurt each other, and we will. Even Joe and Nicky do it."

"Nicky's perfect," Joe said.

"That is not true," Nicky countered.

"I will try to disappoint you less," Booker finished.

Nile tried not to feel smug. "Sucks ass, doesn't it?" she said anyway.

"Yes," Booker agreed, his soft sad eyes pleading with her. "Ass."

It sucked ass on either side of it, but at least he understood her better now. She never ever wanted to see the business end of a minigun again, though. Fuck that shit. She unbuckled and moved into the middle seat. He put his arms around her gratefully. She closed her eyes and laid her head against his shoulder.

They made it to Cambodia, and a rickety plane took them closer to home.


	11. we're going CAMPING and we're going to have a NICE TIME we are a FAMILY and we are going to ACT LIKE IT

July 2030. Estonia

They spent three years shaking the ripple effects of that botched mission in Thailand, but eventually Nile led a mission closer to home that took out the sweatshop mogul, the bastard who owned outsourced factories that basically used slave labor. The man wasn't even Thai and his factories weren't in Thailand either, so why the whole thing had started in Thailand was really unclear even now.

The six of them left his Spanish mansion a bit bloody and dusty, but the man was dead, his stack of intel on them was safe in their possession, his hard drives wiped clean, and his right hand man also very dead.

They were exhausted. Three years playing cat and mouse, where the mouse can't die and might in fact kill, and the cat doesn't quite know what kind of mouse he's dealing with but has the freedom and funds to pay for a private army was stressful as hell.

Three years during which Andy and Quynh relaxed by sword fighting and planning an elaborate second (fifty-second? Two thousandth?) wedding, Joe produced a lot of dark artwork, Nicky stress-baked the most complicated pastries ever (did the end result of sfogliatelle really justify the work it took?), Nile got really, really good at shooting crossbows, and Booker took her advice and learned to crochet and knit, resulting in way too many hats. (Nile was especially fond of the purple one with the pom-pom and encouraged him to wear it often. He did.)

Now that it was over, the family found themselves restless and still wound up. Quynh and Nicky plotted a solution and come up with a camping trip in Estonia. No one's home turf, no bad memories, just some lovely views, good strenuous hikes, and fire-cooked meals. Also, Estonia permitted wild camping, and most other countries did not. The older ones complained about this stupid change. "The world is getting smaller and more controlled and worse," Quynh sighed.

Nile did some research about tents. Estonia was lovely to camp in, but it was important to bring a very sturdy tent as the wilderness was prone to summer storms. The old ones also complained about this—"In my day a few poles and some canvas was good enough"—though Joe sided with Nile and they acquired a tent large enough for the six of them.

Honestly, Nile would've preferred a tropical resort. She just wanted to soak in a hot tub. They could line up six beach chairs and all wear the same style of sunglasses and drink piña coladas like a campy TV show or something.

But Quynh and Nicky seemed so excited about the camping option that Nile didn't have the heart to turn them down, and she didn't want to split up right now.

Estonia was beautiful. Pretty forests and rivers and waterfalls, sunsets, flowers. It was July, but there was a slight nip in the air as they set out on a hiking trail, which would make the campfire all the more fun. Nile had packed a large bag of marshmallows.

They took an afternoon break next to a lovely cascade and nibbled on some snacks. The sun was halfway to the horizon and the waterfall sparkled like diamonds. Nile stretched out on a rock by the bank and watched her family.

Her dad had taken them all camping a long time ago, between deployments. Most of the people around had RVs hooked up, but the Freemans borrowed a neighbor's old tent and single burner camp stove.

It wasn't very exciting, and they didn't go fishing or foraging or even build a fire—firewood cost too much—but it was nice to get out of the city and under towering oaks. Family bonding time, Mom said.

Family bonding time indeed. Andy and Joe had found some flat stones to skip across the creek while Quynh splashed her toes in the edge of the water. Nicky sunned himself in a patch of grass with his eyes shut. And Booker...Booker was just standing downhill from the others, watching the glittering waterfall. The sun caught his hair and highlighted it in gold. He looked so peaceful. Happy. He'd grown his beard back out lately and cut his hair to something a little fluffier and layered after the Spain thing. It was a good look on him.

Yeah. He was beautiful. Nile's face warmed. Wasn't just the sunlight, either. Booker caught her staring and raised an eyebrow. "What?" she demanded.

"What? You started it."

"I didn't start anything, I was just looking at the—pretty scenery," she stuttered.

"Well, so was I," he retorted.

"Then what are we arguing about?" Nile said, standing up on the rock.

"You trying to be taller than me?" he asked, coming over.

"Yeah, what are you gonna do about it?" It was juvenile. So what. She wanted him. She could admit that to herself now.

"Why would I do anything about it?"

Oh no. There was something terribly dangerous about all this, about looking down at Booker and feeling weird and hot and something and did he like this too? Was this a thing? There was definitely something in his eyes. Then he grabbed her around the waist and she squealed as he lifted her off the rock and dropped her on the ground. Thank god the other four were up the hill and the waterfall was loud.

"All right, big man," she challenged. "You wanna go?"

"Now I'm afraid."

"You should be. You started it."

He backed up. "I didn't—ow—" He stumbled over a loose rock and Nile seized the opportunity to jump on him and wrestle him to the ground. He got her wrist behind her as he lost all balance and fell on his back, his knees bent with his legs half under him. She still had the upper hand and used her free arm to throw all her weight against his shoulder so he couldn't move and uh.

Uh.

He was really close. No wait, _she_ was really close, and he wasn't even fighting anymore, but then, she barely was. His breath hit her face. Those eyes, those dangerous, soulful, lopsided eyes were fixed on hers. He was here, they were here, she could just bend down another inch or two.

She didn't.

She sat up and climbed off him. "Um, the—" Should she apologize? What was she supposed to do here? "I'm gonna—I'm gonna get a...food." And she climbed up the little hill to the packs, leaving him sprawled on the ground.

That was weird and rude. Why didn't she just kiss him? What the hell?

Yeah, she knew why. Because it wasn't like getting a normal boyfriend. It was forever. It didn't have to be, and maybe it wouldn't be, but it sure as hell was a promise to try. They didn't have a lot of other options.

"What was that?" Andy asked as casually as she could, which was not very, as she grabbed a granola bar from the pack.

"I—" Nile took a deep breath. "I'm trying to figure that out."

He wasn't not her type, if she had one. He was older, physically, but what difference would that even make in fifty years? She couldn't say she had never wondered if somehow they were destined to pair off like Joe and Nicky or Andy and Quynh. Otherwise they had to wait for another one, or find others to have short-lived, dishonest relationships with.

Or, fuck destiny, maybe Nile just wanted to have someone. She couldn't be everything for him, but maybe she liked his skillful, patient fingers in her hair. Maybe she liked the way he said more with his eyes than with his mouth half the time. Maybe she liked the way he relaxed at her touch, and the way she felt safe when he stood over her broken body to protect it as she healed. The way he surrendered easily when she replaced his liquor with juice and he drank it anyway, making intense eye contact until they both laughed. The way his hair shone in the sun and how he was goddamn beautiful. How he liked to read and how he was so attentive to her even as a friend. How he took her faith seriously even though it wasn't his. How his demons felt so like hers, how he was not afraid to let himself cry, how he had always been so good to her when she was unhappy.

The pendant her mom had given her all those years back rested against her upper chest, safe under her shirt on a strong new chain Booker had gotten her.

She wanted to be held and if he wasn't perfect, so fucking what. He was good and weird and hot and why hadn't she kissed him and why wasn't she going right back over there to do it?

"He's still on the ground," Andy said.

Nile was afraid to look at him. "Shit."

Nicky, who was either oblivious to all this or pretending to be, opened his eyes and rose. "We should get moving. I would like to set up camp before sunset."

Quynh put on her shoes and they kept going. Nile forged ahead because she was a total coward apparently, or maybe she just needed to clear her head. Andy caught up with her. "You all right?" she asked.

"I think so," Nile said.

"Hey, if you're worrying about what the rest of us think, don't."

"I'm not."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Uh." Nile sighed. "Yeah. Maybe. It just feels so big."

"Don't do anything you're not feeling."

"The feeling is not the problem."

"Well, one girl to another, he's great in bed—"

"Oh my god."

"—so if that's what you're worried about—"

"Andy."

"He likes orders, or he did, back when—"

"Please stop," Nile begged.

"Anyway, we've all fucked up. He's a good man."

"I know. It's me I'm not sure about."

"Yeah. You're young. You've got time." She looked back at Quynh. "Not always as much as you think." Andy hefted her pack. "You did good on the last job."

Nile said, "Thanks," because it was nice to hear from Andy.

"I want you to lead the next one too. Whenever it comes up."

"Why not one of the others?"

"You're a leader. I want you to hone that. The others don't really want to be. You know, Nile, this wasn't how I would have wanted your first decade to go. Booker and Quynh fucked it up, and then I didn't expect you to get so attached to him after everything, though, maybe I should have."

Nile ignored that jab. "What did you want?"

"Less family drama, more straightforward jobs I could train you to handle without me. But I also didn't expect my immortality to come back. Or my wife."

"Yeah. I'm okay with it all, though." She was.

"Yeah, I know. You're strong. You're adaptable."

Nile let that sit. It wasn't news that Andy valued her, nor that she wanted her to take point on jobs. It was just one more thing to think about when she was already having A Day.

They found a good camping spot before sunset. Quynh and Nicky collected firewood while Nile and Booker battled the tent and tried not to look at each other. They were best friends. They had a union. This shouldn't be weird, damn it. Why was it weird?

"I think this pole goes on that peg," she said.

"Right, yeah." He slid it into position. They finished getting the pegs in the poles and staked down the tent. There were only four stump seats around the fire, so Booker took one of the bedrolls from the tent and spread it out.

He might be the second youngest, but physically he was the second oldest, Nile thought. The others should remember that when they treated him like the baby brother who didn't need the easy chair or front seat legroom.

Not today, apparently. They were both stuck on the ground.

Great. At least this way they didn't have to keep dodging each other's gaze.

The fire burned hot and then down to steady coals and licking flames. Nicky and Joe set some canned soup in a tin pot to warm up, and Nile pulled out the marshmallows, because fuck it. She grabbed a stick and started roasting.

Marshmallows were kind of gross, but god, it was delicious. Gooey guts, crispy outsides, cloying sugary sweetness. So good after a day of hiking.

Aaaand Booker was watching her.

"You want one?" she asked with her mouth full because they were besties and an almost-kiss was not going to ruin that.

"No thanks," he said with a tiny smile.

The soup heated up soon enough, so Nile put the marshmallows aside. It was salty and not as nice as Nicky's usual homemade stuff, but it was good enough for camping. Dad had heated up Campbell's soup for their camping trip. This was a thicker, less grossly processed soup, but for just a moment it tasted the same and she was eight again.

She shook it off and finished her soup. She wasn't alone. She was okay. Booker finished his soup too and set the bowl aside.

Nile wasn't alone, but she wanted to be a little less alone. Besides, the night was getting cooler. This wasn't weird. Union benefits. She scooted up next to him and leaned her head on his shoulder. He tensed briefly and then relaxed against her.

Weirdness successfully defeated, but now what?

Andy ate half of the marshmallows, most of them burned, two roasted a proper brown by Quynh, and several just raw while she waited for the one on her stick to cook. Quynh tried one and hated it, Nicky ate six, and Joe ate two but wasn't impressed. Booker ate none because "they're gross, sorry."

"You're gross," she countered, and he sputtered, " _You're_ —" And then he huffed.

But when they went to bed, their sleeping bags were pushed together. Union rules.


	12. england, unfortunately

September 2030. England, unfortunately.

Ten years after Nile punched her stupid immoral face in and the gang killed nearly everyone else in the building, Dr. Kozak pinged the radar again.

"If she's after us, we have to go after her," Nile said.

"I'm sorry, guys," Booker said. "I can go after her myself." He paused. "But I don't think I should."

"We will just deal with it together," Nicky said.

"Nile, this is your op." Andy smirked a little. "But whoever gets to her first can take the shot."

Nicky's face tightened.

The facility was well disguised to look abandoned and condemned. Inside was a different matter. It wasn't the cleanest place, but electricity was running and it was definitely in use. The front hallway forked at the end. Nile sent Andy and Nicky left, left Quynh and Joe to guard their backs, and took Booker to the right.

The place was eerily silent, and Nile was starting to worry they'd been set up. Light flickered through a half-open door. Nile signaled Booker to stay well back and guard her six, and then she kicked in the door. Empty too.

In retrospect, it was shoddy. Just really fucking shoddy. She said, "Clear," with her back to the open door, without checking _behind_ the door, and she immediately got stabbed in the neck with a sharp needle. Not in the side. In the front with almost terrifying precision. She hit the jugular. Son of a bitch. Nile lashed out and hit her attacker in the face, but it was too late. The world was tilting. She heard a distant "Nile?" and tried to call out for Booker.

It didn't hurt, but consciousness was rapidly slipping away. Her gun fell from her hands and clattered on the floor. "Book—" she slurred.

There was a thud nearby and a woman grunted in pain. "Nile. Nile! Stay with me."

She was on the floor, she was pretty sure. Equilibrium was shot and while she could see, she couldn't focus on anything.

"Hey. Wake up! Nile!" Pretty man, pretty voice, pretty hands trying to hold her up.

"Can't," she sighed, her eyes drifting shut.

"What did you do to her?"

"I didn't—"

"What is it?!" Booker yelled.

"It's just midazolam," the woman said, and Nile was gone.

"There. Now let me go." The same rotten voice was speaking as the world slowly returned.

Booker's face swam above her. "Nile, you with me?"

"I'm…here," she mumbled. Her mouth wasn't responding very well.

"We got you the antidote, just wait a minute."

There was something behind him. "Book," she tried.

"I'm here—" He was cut off by the wire that settled around his neck and tightened from behind.

The first thought that Nile managed to cobble together was _What the fuck?_ Why strangle your enemy when you have a gun! Wait, did the attacker have a gun?

Also, how dare he?

Booker clutched at his neck, his eyes bugging out.

"Got you," the woman said. Fucking Kozak. This mad scientist was going down. As soon as Kozak came into view above her, Nile bopped her in the face with all her strength, which was just enough to knock her down.

Why couldn't Booker shake this asshat? What was the point of being house-sized if another large man could take you down so easily?

Nile rolled over and sat up, her vision tilting. Booker was scared. Really, really scared because _of course_ he was because he was strangled to death a million times for his first deaths.

Her job was going to shit. "This is my mission," she said, getting up. The world spun as she lurched toward the bastard, but Booker's face turning purple filled her with a white hot rage. "That's _mine,_ " she snarled, barely aware of what she was saying. "Don't you fucking _touch_ him!" He'd planted his legs wide, and that was his mistake. She kicked him in the crotch as hard as she could. She wasn't steady, but it was enough to get him to let go.

Booker dropped to the floor, eyes still wide as his body jerked around. His windpipe must have collapsed. Her attention faltered for a split second, and their attacker threw her into the wall. Her head cracked hard, but the antidote and her body were pushing through the sedative. She slammed her boot into his gut as he approached. It knocked him back, but he was huge and she was drugged. He kicked her ribs. Something cracked. She growled in rage and pain but he wasn't done. He got a knee on her stomach and punched her face one, two, three times. She kicked, but he was out of range and everything hurt and she had royally fucked up the job Andy was counting on her to do right and Booker had been brutally _strangled_ and _ow_ that hurt and—

A gunshot went off and blood spattered all over Nile's face. There was a hole in his head.

She pushed him off to see Quynh with the smoking gun.

"Is this the doctor?" Quynh asked. Nile coughed and nodded as she rolled over. Everything hurt, but her ribs were already fixing themselves. "Good. Are you all right?"

Nile groaned in response and crawled to Booker, who coughed and gasped horribly as air rushed back into his lungs. "Nile," he whispered, reaching for her.

"We cleared the rest of the place," Quynh said.

"I fucked up," Nile said.

Booker touched her face, running his thumb along her bloody cheekbone. "No, no, we got her, you got her."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry."

"We're okay," he said, and she crawled into his arms. "We're okay."

She pressed a kiss to his neck. The neck, always the neck. More specifically, the throat. Such a vulnerable spot. If nobody but him ever touched her throat again—and if nobody but her ever touched his—that would be ideal. Still a bit hazy, she decided to express this in the most efficient way possible. "Mine," she muttered against his skin.

"Yes," he whispered. "I know." He let her stay tucked against him for another few seconds, and then said, "Can you get up?"

"The doctor is coming to," Quynh said sharply, so Nile let Booker get them both on their feet. The injuries had all healed up, though the sedative lingered.

The other three joined them. "Are you two all right?" Nicky asked.

"We'll live," Booker answered wryly and Nile huffed a laugh, thanking god her ribs had finished repairing themselves.

Satisfied, Nicky turned to their prisoner. "Dr. Kozak," he said flatly.

"Nicky," she retorted through a bloody nose.

"You shouldn't have had us followed," Joe said.

"It would seem that way. I see you are still refusing to help change the world through medicine. How selfish. But I wouldn't expect anything more of superhumans who never had to work for their gifts."

"You see correctly," Nicky said. He shot her twice in the chest. "We should get out of here," he said, watching her die.

Booker and Nile retrieved their guns and Andy and Joe threw bleach from a supply closet on the scene just to fuck up any possible evidence. Nile wiped her face off with a labcoat, and they left the scene.

The ride to the closest safe safe house (which was not the closest safe house) was three hours and Nile spent all of it pressed up against Booker in spite of the empty seat next to her, trying to figure out if "Mine" and "Yes, I know" definitely meant what she wanted it to mean, what she thought it meant.

The back of the minivan was dark. She could kiss him. It would be like high school and kissing in the back of the bus on the way home from a late game. Instead, the lingering drug put her to sleep for the last hour of the drive.

She woke disoriented in the dark to Booker murmuring, "We're here, wake up."

"Thanks," she mumbled. Time to face the music. What a shitshow.

He took her hand as they went inside. Nicky and Joe had already started pulling out cans of vegetables to make dinner. "I'm sorry, everyone," she said. "I botched that."

"We killed her and we all walked away," Quynh said. "No one got hurt but the two of you. Why are you apologizing to us?"

"Because I made the stupidest possible mistake."

"Walk it off, Nile," Andy said. "You'll know next time."

A wave of gratitude swept over her. It wasn't pity or leniency. It was just a quick family meeting that didn't need to be bigger than the matter at hand. Andy didn't sugarcoat.

"Oh. Okay. I'm going to shower, then."

"Nile," Nicky said gently.

"I'm okay."

"All right. Booker—"

Booker waved him off and Nile left the kitchen and headed toward the bathroom, only half-deliberately dragging him with her.

"I'm sorry I let him kill you," she said quietly in the hallway. "Like that."

Booker gave her a tired but very soft smile. "You were drugged."

"Which was my fault."

"Let it go." He squeezed her shoulder. "Comfort doesn't require self-flagellation." That was funny to hear from him, but it was also a relief. He was right, and that he meant and believed it was a great sign for him.

Comfort would be nice. She put a hand on his chest and slid it slowly up to his neck, watching for any sign of tension, but he just sighed, his shoulders relaxing as his head drooped forward to rest against hers. She left her hand sitting loosely, his throat hot under it. "It was a nightmare."

"Mm," he acknowledged, the vibrations humming against her palm.

"I wanted to tear him apart for hurting you and I could barely move. I don't want to be that person, I don't want to be the person who kills in a rage but he had no right, why kill like that instead of with a gun? Why the torture? I was just so angry."

"You're not that person, Nile. Anyone can be provoked with the right leverage, and you were drugged."

"The right leverage? What does that make you?"

He was quiet, and his throat bobbed a few times. "I think you said it," he finally whispered.

They'd crossed the bridge, then. She still felt like she was going to faceplant getting off of it. "Mine," she choked out.

His breath stuttered.

This wasn't quite how Nile had pictured it. Maybe they'd kiss dramatically in the middle of a fight that they were winning—although that was more romantic in movies and less romantic in real life when you were killing real humans. Maybe visiting a very cool landmark for the first time, or surrounded by beautiful nature—well, she'd fucked up the Estonian camping opportunity—or something, anything romantic on paper and not like this, not picking apart and naming the things they'd said—things _she'd_ said as he was brutalized; meanwhile she was still shaking off a sedative in a dark hallway with the rest of the family one room over.

Oh well. Life is like that. They were not reality TV stars or soap characters or Keira Knightley with a cutlass. It was never going to be the perfect time. His pulse thrummed under her fingers as he tried to steady his breathing and she loved him so much. Nile bent her head to the side and pressed her mouth to his. His beard tickled her nose but his lips were soft and his free hand touched her waist and then it was over, he'd pulled away, why, why had he pulled away, no, he wanted her, he did, he'd said so.

"Sorry," he whispered, and her stomach jumped into her throat. "I, well." He winced. "You taste like blood and ah, brains, I think. It's a little…sorry." Oh. Okay. She could breathe again. He looked so deeply apologetic that Nile snorted and then they were both laughing.

"I need to shower," she admitted. Her hand still rested on his throat. "Would you…do you want to…can you just talk to me while I do? I'm…" Shaken, maybe. Feeling stupid. Also, they'd just kissed, and she didn't want to run off or let him run off so quickly afterward.

"Why don't I go change and get you some clean clothes," Booker offered. "I'll be right back."

"Yeah, okay." Nile let go of him. He kissed her forehead, made a face, and went into a bedroom, still trying to look at her and running into the door frame for his trouble. A stupid grin forced its way onto her face, but she shook herself and went into the bathroom. She used some mouthwash—it was old, but it was antiseptic—and started the shower. Her hair was a mess and it was almost wash day anyway, so she quickly took out her two Dutch braids and stepped under the water.

Booker knocked, and she summoned him inside. He sat on the floor with his back against the tub. "Nicky's making pasta," he said.

"He always does." Nile washed her face under the hot water. Bad habit, but oh well. She was immortal. She wasn't getting wrinkles any time soon. "Wait, you know what brains taste like?"

"Well…I might _now_."

"Tell us if you get the shakes."

"The shakes?"

"Yeah, you know, when you eat brains, you might get, like, mad cow disease, but for humans."

"I don't know that. Why do you know that?"

"I eat brains, duh."

"Oh, right, I forgot."

"Yeah, I don't remember. Read it somewhere." Nile finished scrubbing off her body and started on her hair. Thank God Joe kept usable products around. "Hey, I cannot believe I've known you for ten years without asking this, but is your last name really The Book?"

"Kind of. It was one word, which is a real surname. When my parents died, I split it into two words. I was nineteen. I thought I was very cool."

That was adorable. She loved him so much. He was so weird. "I'm sure you were."

"I wasn't, but thank you."

"What about your other name, I mean I get why the nickname, but when did it stick?"

"Actually, after I left France. Andy gave it to me."

Huh. That was somewhere in the realm of what Nile had suspected, but she'd learned not to assume anything about her family's histories by now. She rinsed her hair and conditioned it. Now to let that sit for a bit. "Hey," she said, and she leaned around the curtain, using it to cover herself. "I should be brain free."

Booker turned around quickly, kneeling to reach her. She almost said _Let's do this properly_ , but she was naked and halfway through a shower in a bathroom that hadn't been dusted in years. Proper wasn't really an option.

Good opportunity though. He'd put on a green T-shirt and there were his arms—nice—and really, she could and should just remove all of that and get him in the shower with her. Bad timing, though, and she was still recovering from the drugging, and maybe their first time should be special and nice. She still kind of wanted _something_ to be. Instead, then, she got a handful of his hair and tugged him in close as he made an involuntary noise in his throat.

This time when their lips met, he was hungry, open-mouthed, seemingly trying to devour her. They both needed some technical practice, but his need and want and fire were more exciting anyway. She met him as best as she could, kissing him hard until she realized she'd dropped the curtain to grab the back of his neck. They caught their breath, and he said, "The hot water won't last." But he said it with an adorable little pout and carefully kept his eyes on hers. What a fucking gentleman.

"Thanks," Nile said, and pecked him before getting back in the shower to rinse out the conditioner. "Okay, I'm getting out."

"Right, I'll…" He trailed off, but the door opened and closed, so Nile turned off the shower and got out. The air was a bit cool, so she dried, dressed, and finished putting stuff in her hair.

Back in the kitchen, Nicky stirred chunky tomato sauce in a wide pan. Andy, Joe, and Booker had sprawled on the couch, and Quynh was examining spice jars one by one, throwing some in the sauce and some in the trash.

"Anything you need done?" Nile asked Nicky.

"No, thank you," he said. "There's not much food to make, so it is just this."

"Cool." Nile stood still for a minute. Very little had changed, overall, but she was still buzzing with it. She was still in a cute little Welsh cottage with her family. The only difference between now and half an hour ago was that she and Booker could snuggle and share a bed without excuses now. And kiss. And other things, presumably.

She sat on the couch arm. Booker looked up at her. She kind of wanted to sit in his lap and kind of wanted to stay low-key around the others right now, so she compromised by getting a hand on his shoulder. He rested his head on her thigh.

"Maybe we shouldn't have waited ten years to wrap up that loose end," Joe said.

"Do you still feel ten years?" Nile asked, her fingers slowly caressing the back of Booker's neck. His breath hitched, just barely.

Joe laughed. "Yes. But you're right, it's very different from the way it used to be."

Maybe Nile had pictured something more dramatic because Joe and Nicky had met on the battlefield and killed each other multiple times before falling in love. A violent enemies to lovers sort of deal. Andy and Quynh had met when Quynh was desperate, alone, and suffering, searching for each other for nearly a century, and then they'd been cruelly torn apart and explosively reunited.

Then there was her and Booker. They just kind of fell together quietly. Well, maybe the possessive screaming as they both got their asses kicked was dramatic, but broadly speaking. They were best friends for years, and now they were best friends and something else too.

"I miss this little house," Joe said. "We should stay for a little bit."

"The bed situation might be…" Andy smirked. "Inadequate."

"We can fix that."

Nicky called them in for dinner, and surprisingly, no one else commented on the new romance in their midst. Thank goodness. They were still figuring it out, anyway.

That night, as Nile tried to find a comfortable spot in a single bed without either of them falling off, she said, "I'm not possessive."

"What?"

"When I yelled at that dude that you were um, mine. I don't usually…I'm not possessive."

Booker huffed, amused. "I didn't mind that."

Yeah, yeah. What was it Andy said? He liked orders? "Okay. Well, sorry. It's not me. It was drugs and panicking and all that shit that's been bouncing between us since we almost kissed in Estonia."

"Huh. Yeah. Well, you could be…protective? Does that work?"

"Sure, whatever." Nile was grateful that her neck couldn't ache all day because getting used to sleeping with someone else was weird. Not that she hadn't before, but the last time she'd actually spent the night with someone she was involved with was before she got deployed. Booker was taller and broader than any of her exes, which was nice if they were spooning, but then her arm would fall asleep and how did Nicky and Joe do this every night for hundreds of years? She wanted a king-sized mattress, then she could cuddle with him when she wanted to instead of all the time whether she was trying to or not.

Of course, that might not work in practice either, because Booker was very snuggly when he was asleep or close to it. She'd have to give him his plush dolphin to hug if she wanted any peace. The dolphin was in Brussels now, adorning the bed in Booker's nicest safe house.

Right now, Nile was lying on her back on top of him, because hey, maybe this was a workable sleeping position, and he finally said, "You want me to sleep in my bed?"

"Nah, we'll figure it out."

"We need a bigger bed," he said.

"Yeah, I have no idea how the others do this. Especially when it's hot."

"They're from hotter climates," Booker yawned.

"Andy's not."

"They sleep naked, I don't know."

There was a thought, but it wouldn't fix the discomfort of her spine against his ribs. Besides, they had time to take it slow. She flipped over. "It's just me, isn't it?"

He smoothed his hand down her back. "I can sleep anywhere, yeah. Hey, I'll go. I want you to sleep."

"No, I'm fine. Dizzy would make fun of me for this," Nile muttered, but she settled her head in the dip between his shoulder and his chest and closed her eyes. He started running his fingers up and down her back, slowly, softly, and that was nice. That was very nice. That was…


	13. not twilight rules

2030\. Wales

It was morning, and her neck hurt. Someone was frying eggs in the kitchen, probably Nicky. He must've gone to the shops early. Nile's body was not in a comfortable position at all, but it was morning, and she was at least horizontal, so she didn't move.

It took a moment to realize she was lying on Booker and then another moment to remember why. Usually there had to be some kind of excuse. Except now, right. They'd moved past excuses.

His heart beat steadily. Sixty-five, she guessed.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," Booker yawned.

Nile lifted her head. He was a pretty sight in the morning with his hair all messy and fluffed around his head, shining gold in the sun, eyes all sleepy and soft. "I'm thinking about kissing you."

His free arm snaked around her waist. "What's stopping you?"

"Good point." She scooted up his body and kissed him. "Mm. Morning breath."

"My arm is asleep."

"I want a bigger bed."

"Yeah."

What he'd said registered and she got up. "Oh, sorry."

"It's fine. I think." He sat up and shook it out. She debated whether to try and massage it awake, but he stopped and looked up at her. "God, you're beautiful."

She wasn't sure how to respond without sounding insincere, so she went with, "You're not so bad yourself."

He laughed. "I heard I have a face someone might want."

"Oh, shut up." But she grinned and let him get both arms around her waist. It'd been over ten years since she'd had hugs on demand from a hot dude (or woman), or at least, hugs on demand without some kind of dumb joke or excuse or feeling weird about having feelings. The snap and pop of oil in the kitchen faded away. "I think there might be breakfast."

He hummed in acknowledgment, squeezed her tighter, and let go. "Yeah."

"Can we get pregnant?" Nile asked at breakfast. "I haven't had a period since...but—"

"No," Andy said. "After our first death, we can't have children. Lykon and I pretty well confirmed. With other people." She didn't ask, but her eyes drifted to Booker, who hid behind a glass of orange juice.

"Great, so not even Twilight rules."

Booker choked on his juice.

Nile continued. "That's...that's probably a good thing."

"What are Twilight rules?" Quynh asked.

"Twilight vampires can't get pregnant but they can impregnate humans, although, I think Edward Cullen was only able to because the warm ocean, like, woke up his balls or something."

"Whaaaat…" Joe breathed.

Andy grinned. "I just love that you already knew that, Book."

"You read them?" Joe asked. "Oh, and we didn't even know."

"Because I knew you'd make fun of me," Booker countered. "But now if you do, you're also making fun of Nile."

"The ocean warmed his balls and rejuvenated his sperm?" Nicky asked. "That is an interesting story choice."

"She was a Mormon," Nile said. "I don't know."

"If we keep talking about Twilight," Joe said, "are you going to make us watch them?"

"I don't think so. It's kind of a lackluster immortal romance for me now. I've seen better."

"I didn't like Jasper in the movies," Booker added. "He's very...wrong. He freaks me out."

"Now we're going to watch them all together," Andy teased.

"No, we're not," Nile cut in. There was way too much good media in the world to tolerate fucking Twilight.

"Oh," Quynh said. "I see. Because Booker is fucking you, you are on his side."

"Really, Quynh?" Booker complained as Nile said, "Very mature, aren't you like two thousand something?"

"So you're not fucking?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," Nile retorted as Booker said, "You can stop any time now."

She turned to the others. "They're fucking."

"Honestly, are you twelve?"

"Oh, they're not fucking, but they're planning to."

"Quynh," Nicky said, "why don't we assume that our family will tell us things when they want to."

"Yes, Father," she said, and went back to her eggs with a smirk.

They finished breakfast, and Booker and Joe washed the dishes while Nicky and Nile took a walk. "Thanks for bailing us out," she said.

"It didn't seem like you were having fun."

"Yeah." She ran her hand along the top of the hedge. "I'm not embarrassed; I just want to figure it all out with him first before talking to everyone else about it."

"Of course."

"It just seems bigger than anything else—anyone I've ever been with. Those could always...you know. End."

"This can end, if you need it to. I could always leave Joe."

"No, you couldn't."

"In theory, anyway," Nicky conceded. "It wouldn't come up, but if it did."

"You know what I'm saying. I'm forever twenty-six. If I get into a relationship with another immortal, I mean, there's only six of us. If it explodes, that's going to fuck with everyone's relationships."

"Maybe. And maybe not. We live so long, you know. Yusuf and I once had a fight that lasted months. We were a lot younger then. It is a lot of work at first, and then it is a lot less. Once you know each other so well your devotion is as natural as breathing, there is very little to fight about."

"But _we_ are young. I'm not even fifty."

"We had to have those years," Nicky said. "The ones where we worked very hard and rejoiced in our connection. And I think Booker has spent a lot of his first two centuries in a dark place. His pain is old. The rest of him is younger than it should be."

"I want this," Nile said. "I just...I just want it to work."

"The four of us will be here for you. And you can always talk to me. I have a few years experience handling a very long-lived love." He smiled. "It is worth it."

"Yeah, yeah, we'll be the test case for if it works when there's more than one gender involved."

Nicky shrugged. "Shouldn't be too much different. If people can't find one reason to dislike it, they'll find another."

"Yeah, no, I know. I've been Black my whole life."

"I wonder what that will mean in five hundred years," he mused. "I wasn't born white. There was no such thing then. I was Christian, Genovese. A man, a sinner. Now I am Italian, white, gay. All these things that were created."

"I forgot gay people were invented in the eighties."

Nicky laughed. "It was about behavior, not identity. But, admittedly, I never had an interest in women nor did I…"

"Behave with them?"

"Right. When the particular labels became fashionable, I didn't mind it. I understand why the change. In some ways it has helped with the laws. But you understand all that."

"Must be a rule for us, no straight people in the undying club."

"Must be," he agreed. "I do have one piece of advice."

"Do I need it yet?"

"Yes. Take a holiday. Go somewhere nice for a few weeks."

"That's...that's a good idea, yeah. Thanks."

When they returned to the cottage, Joe was drying dishes and Booker was trying to get out of the house. "Hey, I was just going to…"

"Can I join you?" Nile asked.

"Uh. Yes," he said, but he looked like a spooked rabbit.

Motherfucker. Unbelievable. After they'd finally gotten together. Since that first awkward kiss last night, they hadn't had more than a couple minutes apart. Now what, he was panicking?

Nicky slipped inside and Nile took Booker's hand. "You know, they were just trying to annoy us." Her stomach hurt. They hadn't had the real conversation about what they were doing yet.

"Yeah. I know. I...yesterday, when you kissed me…" He fidgeted, looking down at their joined hands.

"Please don't leave me in suspense," Nile said in a rush. She'd live with it if he'd changed his mind. It would suck, it would hurt, and it would make no damn sense, but she'd live. But she had to hear it.

"I feel like I got ahead of myself because I've been, uh, wanting you for longer than I probably should have. And the thing is—"

"Oh my god," Nile said. "If you want me, then what's the problem?"

He dropped her hand and looked up, finally meeting her gaze. "I'm not good enough for you."

"Uh, too damn bad," she retorted. "You have to be." She felt like an asshole almost immediately, but he just looked surprised. "I just mean, it's a choice. To try."

"Yeah."

She pulled him into her arms and he let her. He was a good five inches taller, so she rose up on her tiptoes to reach comfortably. "If you changed your mind about us, then, okay. I get it. I'll be pissed, but I get it. But I want to be with you. I'll put in the work if you will."

"I do," he said, his voice unsteady. "I do. I'm sorry. I…" He took a deep breath and tucked his face against her cheek. "I've been afraid to want anyone. Since…but I do, of course I do, I love you, but I'm so—" He swallowed a few times, giving Nile time to process this declaration.

She loved Booker too, but she loved all of her family, and it was different now, and was she in love with him? She definitely wanted to be loved by him, so this was a good thing.

"I'm messed up," he said at last. "And if I inflict myself on you, it's like I'm ruining something very good and beautiful. I mean someone. Not—I don't think of you as a thing."

"Booker," she said, "you know I've killed people, right? You know I was in the US Marines?"

He actually laughed, his voice croaky as he tried not to cry.

"You're not going to ruin me. Hey. Come on. We just expanded our union benefits. That's what we're doing." If he wanted to run, he was going to have to try a lot harder. "Come on, man, I thought we were past this shit."

He made a sad noise and squeezed her tight, not painfully, but pressed right up against him. "I want this," he mumbled in a weirdly high pitch. "I'm working on it, I swear."

"Sweetheart, we're gonna be good enough for each other. We're going to choose it. Every day. Okay?"

"Mmhm," he said into her shoulder.

The insanity of giving a romantic pep talk to a man two hundred years older than her did not escape her, but if he needed it, he needed it. Her feet were starting to hurt, though. "I can't stand like this for—oh."

He straightened, lifting her off the ground, and that was nicer now that they were an item. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been with someone notably taller than her. It would have been easier if both her arms were around his neck, but he had one arm over her shoulder, so he had to put her down.

She could feel the big stupid grin on her face, but he was almost matching it now. His smile was tentative, his eyes red, but he wasn't running from her. "I'm sorry about all that, I…"

God, he was pretty even like this, before showering, just barely backing off the verge of tears, his hair hanging loose and messy. Forget even, he was just straight up pretty because of it. Nile had never thought of herself as someone attracted to people with serious baggage, but it didn't really matter, did it, because she was crazy about Booker specifically, and that was what mattered. "It's okay. We're gonna live way too long for this to be simple for either of us."

She still felt queasy like she was in high school and Alana had kissed her in the locker room. Like this was it, this was everything. Except now, maybe it was. With Alana it only _felt_ like everything to her fifteen-year-old ass.

"Yeah. Yeah. Right. But we do it anyway. Okay." Booker's hands were still on Nile's shoulders, his fingers moving restlessly, tapping, poking, rubbing the fabric of her t-shirt. He could sleep easily enough, but when he was awake, he moved.

She settled her arms around his neck and pressed her forehead to his. His hands slid down to her back. Still restless. This should be easy. They'd kissed already.

But now it was a promise, not a question. A promise she'd really already made yesterday and maybe years ago and so had he. She bent her head to the side and pressed her lips to his.

He seemed, surprisingly, more prepared than yesterday. It was easier to find a rhythm, to open her mouth to his, to nip at his lower lip and get a squeak from back in his throat.

Very good. Then he stuck his tongue in her mouth, exploring, awkward, rusty, but better than yesterday, and very responsive to her.

This needed to stop, because she wasn't in high school and her body had a strong idea of what should come next, but she didn't want to make their first time a family affair, and if Booker's little squeak was any indication, neither of them were going to be very good at keeping it down.

She broke it off first, loosening her arms and sliding her hands onto his cheeks to gently push him back.

"Let's take a vacation," she said before he could worry. "Like, tomorrow. Me and you, alone."

"Yeah," he agreed readily. "Yeah, anywhere you want. Want me to do your hair today? Cornrows? Braids? Something new?"

Oh, okay, yeah, she was definitely in love with him. Pretty embarrassing to have forgotten. "Yeah. I'll figure out where we're going, you do my hair."

He ducked down to kiss her again, but this time it was just a soft, closed-mouth kiss. Nile wanted to stay in this moment forever. The sun was warm, the breeze was gentle, and the person she loved had his lips pressed to hers.

The door opened and he broke away. She dropped her hands and he took them, his ever restless fingers stroking hers. Andy walked past them. "Anyone want to join me for a morning run?"

"Actually," Booker said. "Yeah. I will."

"I'm skipping it today," Nile said. "Don't use this time to freak out again."

He smiled. "Yeah." He kissed her again and let go of her hands. "Give me a minute to change, boss."

"So," Andy said after he'd gone inside. "I guess you didn't wear him out too much last night."

"Real funny."

"You two are good for each other. Like I said."

"Yeah. We are."

Andy stepped to the side and Nile went inside. After Booker changed and left, Nile went into the main room to find Joe sitting on Nicky's lap in the big armchair and whispering something in his ear that had Nicky smiling in his quiet way.

"You've created a monster," Quynh said, sharpening her sword.

"Me?"

"Yes," she said. "Since I've been back, Yusuf and Nico have been polite because of Booker. And you. Now they don't have to."

Nicky snorted. "I will bet you a hundred euros they will be worse than us because I remember falling in love with Yusuf and I am certain we were far more insufferable then."

"Hmm, I won't take that bet," Quynh said. "I would hate to break your losing streak."

Joe laughed. "But I would think we would all enjoy watching Booker sitting on Nile's lap."

"I can't breathe thinking about it," Nile cut in. "Besides, he wouldn't."

"No, he wouldn't," Joe agreed.

"What's a nice place to see for us young folks? Or, you know, spend some…" She winced. "...time. Together."

There was definitely some teasing headed her way, but oh well. She had him for real, he was hers, and no mockery could ruin her day.

Joe whispered something in Nicky's ear, and Nicky shook his head. "No, no, they need their own place."

"I like Nassau," Joe said. "It's hell to get to these days, well, for me, but you might be fine. Costa Rica, that's pretty. Maldives are just about done for. Mykonos."

"Tunis is lovely," Nicky said. "We have a house there, but it might need some airing out. You're welcome to stay there, of course. Tuscany is beautiful when we are not being kidnapped. Thessaloniki is fun. I would say Iceland, I loved Iceland, but Booker hates the cold still."

"Those are all good romantic getaway spots, anyway," Joe said. "If you want to do or see something, that's a different list. Machu Picchu. Tikal. The pyramids, if you've never been. Uluru, Victoria Falls, Taj Mahal. Cahokia."

Huh. No teasing at all. Yet.

"Fly first class," Nicky said. "It is worth it. On us."

"You always get rid of our money," Joe said fondly.

"No," Nicky replied, "I support the young ones."

"And they appreciate it, I'm sure."

"I'll let you know," Nile said. "I've never flown first class."

Booker and Andy came back. Andy headed straight to the shower and Booker poured a glass of water down his throat. "I should've been eighteen forever," he said morosely. "Limitless energy would be really nice." He caught Nile gazing at him over the back of the couch and said, "What?" but softly.

"I'm just looking," she said. He was covered in sweat, his T-shirt stuck to his skin. His legs were hidden by the loose sweatpants, but half the curve of his butt was visible, and they were doing this, and she could look all she wanted. Did he know he was hot? He needed to. He definitely needed to know his body was beautiful and his face was very cute and the whole thing together with his personality was remarkably charming in spite of his desperation to hide himself from the world.

Josephine Baker and James Dean had tried to get their hands on him, and more people would, but none of them would have him, not really. _Mine._

"Yeah?" He sounded almost shy.

She patted the couch and he came right away.

Huh.

He'd always been amenable to going with what she wanted under most circumstances, but it was interesting to note how quickly he moved to obey her request. Interesting. Fun. Andy was serious.

Maybe—probably—he just wanted to touch her. She wanted to touch him. He was gross and sweaty, though, so he sprawled out on the other side and Nile put a hand on his knee. His eyes widened as he stared at it, then up at the rest of her.

Nicky, Joe, and Quynh were all watching. Nile had never been one to perform and she certainly wasn't now and she had to live with these people for eternity...but...it would be nice to kiss him again, get her fingers in his hair and show him he was loved, show everyone.

Except that would be a little weird, and he was sweaty and gross, so instead she just squeezed his knee and said, "Nicky says Tunis is nice, or Costa Rica. What do you think?"

"Oh, uh." He blew out a breath. "Pick something."

"Come on."

"Okay, okay. I'll think about it in the shower." Sometimes exhaustion made his accent stronger, which was at least cute and probably hot, and was it weird and objectifying to think that way? She wasn't into French or specifically accented people as a whole thing, she just liked Booker and liked the little things that stood out.

"They're paying for first class."

"Oh yeah?" he said, looking over at the boys.

"Nicky is, I'm not," Joe said.

"Nicky, I feel bad about taking all your money," Booker said.

"I just want you to have a nice time," Nicky said. "Besides, it is all in one pot, is it not?"

Andy got out of the shower and Booker went in, Nile's hand sliding off his leg to land on the couch.

"Hmm," Quynh said. "You're already losing, Nicky."

"He was sweaty," Joe said. "And Nile just showered. I don't think that counts."

"I think we should leave them alone," Nicky said. "It will be more fun for us all to tease each other in a few years, not now when this stage of their relationship is new."

"Thank you, Nicky," Nile said. "This is why you're my second favorite."

"Oh, I've been usurped?" Andy said, coming out of her and Quynh's room. "What did he do?"

"He was polite and thoughtful," Joe said.

She sighed. "Ah, fuck. Keep it. No one's getting back up to number one, anyway."

"Who's number five?" Quynh asked.

"Now you're taking it too seriously," Nile said, checking to see how her hair was drying.

"Ah, me."

"No! I don't have favorites."

"You've had one for years," Joe pointed out.

"Yeah, one! That's different. You all have one."

"Whatever happened to us, Nile?" Andy asked, leaning over her from behind the couch. "I miss you tying me up and me breaking your arm."

Nile pushed her away. "Get out."

Quynh got up suddenly and went outside, so Andy excused herself. She did that sometimes. Sometimes something set her off, sometimes nothing. She'd decided the best way to handle it was to get away from everyone besides Andy.

Nile retrieved her laptop and started looking at places to go. Booker got out of the shower a few minutes later and headed to his room. "Hey," Nile said.

"Hmm?" he asked, turning to her. Which was nice. He had a towel around his waist but everything else was on display. That's a lot of man, her mom would've said. Without his loose shirts and jackets, he couldn't hide his broad chest or his arms all glistening with water trickling down from his hair. Nice arms. Really fucking ni— "You need something?"

Nile tore her eyes away from the rest of him and met his eyes. "No." But she could feel the corner of her mouth tugging upwards.

"Oh." He looked confused, then pleased, then bashful. "I...I'm going to…" He pointed at his door. She nodded, and he slipped inside.

"See? I can be insufferable," Nile said, and Joe and Nicky laughed.

"No, I don't think so," Joe said. "This is fun already. I like seeing Booker happy. And you."

"His arms," Nile mouthed, and Nicky nodded in agreement.

"Huge," he whispered back. "Still not insufferable. You'll have to try harder."

Joe shook his head. "This is why the vacation."

Booker came back and started working on her hair while she made suggestions about vacation destinations. They settled on Mykonos, because it wasn't too far away, but it was warm and beautiful and there were beaches and pretty hotels and apparently it was super queer-friendly, which they didn't need but was nice for a couple of bisexuals. Nile reserved a couple weeks at a nice hotel and bought plane tickets for the next day.

She should've picked cornrows. She liked braids, but cornrows were faster and as nice as it was to feel her boyfriend's fingers in her hair—and it was nice—it would be nicer to be sitting in his lap or kissing him or feeling those stupid big arms around her.

Joe offered to help, but Booker hesitated, saying they wouldn't look as consistent. They compromised by having Booker separate the sections and letting Joe do some of the actual braiding. If Nile felt spoiled having two beautiful men doing her hair for free, well, she was going to bask in it a little. It still took hours. Mom, guess what, my white French boyfriend is my hairstylist, she imagined telling her mother, who would definitely be proud of Nile for having such high standards.

They broke for lunch and resumed afterward, and it took until three to finish, but her hair looked really good and felt comfortable, so, worth it.

They ended up in their own beds that night. Tomorrow there would be a king bed so Captain fucking America (France?) could stretch out without knocking Nile off the edge of the world, but tonight, she just wanted some good sleep.

It was admittedly slightly annoying to lie on her front and know she could have Booker running his pretty artist fingers over her back as she fell asleep when he was one room over, but god she hadn't had sex in years and if he were in her bed tonight she would've gone for it and she really wanted to wait until they were alone.

"You were in the marines," she whispered to herself. "You are not going to stay awake all night because you are thirsty and stupid. Now fall asleep." Discipline worked. She drifted off.

Joe made breakfast in the morning and Nicky dropped them off at the airport. They had a four hour layover in Charles de Gaulle—no straight shot flights available—so they ate a fancy lunch and made out in an empty lounge until someone gasped loudly and said, "Oh my goodness gracious!" with the poshest accent Nile had ever heard. Which sounded like a cue to find a new place. As they left, the woman stopped Nile and said, "Excuse me, my dear, are you quite all right?" with a nasty glare at Booker.

Nile started laughing. "Yeah. Thanks. I think I'm older than you think I am."

"Ah. My mistake then."

"Good looking out."

"Just so."

"I'm old," Booker said as they headed toward their gate.

"She doesn't know that. Forget her. Hey, I have goals for this vacation."

"You do?"

"Yeah. We need more of our own inside jokes. The old kids have way too many. It's time to fight back."

"Mm. I can get behind that." They reached the waiting area and sat down. "Those your only goals?"

"Yeah. Uh-huh. Just that. Me and you playing Mad Libs until we get some good material. Two weeks of that. Excited?"

"Can't wait." But he was wearing a sweet smile that made her felt gooey and safe. "If you want that, I'm in."

"Well, that's my goal," Nile said, sliding her hand up his arm. "I have additional plans, not necessarily goals, you know? Maybe we can multitask."

His chest jerked as he laughed. "There's an image."

"What is?"

"You, demanding plural nouns and verbs ending in 'ING' while I…" He put his hand over his mouth and spoke through his fingers. "...multitask."

Okay, hot. Bless him, he was sweet and yes she was looking forward to what she thought he was implying. "I think we already have one inside joke. We're doing great."


	14. hey remember our sex vacation

2030\. Mykonos, Greece

It was late when they checked in at the hotel, but the breeze through the window was lovely as they dropped their luggage and flopped onto the bed.

"I don't know what it is about planes that make sitting all day very tiring," Booker said, sheepish, "but…"

"Yeah, no, I'm with you. I want to eat something and then I want to sleep. We can do stuff tomorrow."

"We can play Mad Libs tomorrow."

"Honestly, I'm just really glad you even know what that is."

"Hey, I pay attention to the world. I had slap bracelets."

"Wow, what happened to them?"

"Andy broke them."

Yeah, that was predictable. "I can't imagine why. You know, they make silent fidget toys."

"It's the silence that bugs me." He tapped the mattress a few times. "I'm not that annoying, am I?"

"No," she reassured him.

"I used to fidget less when I drank more, so it's your fault."

"Oh, please."

"I mean...I just wanted to be better for you. Not—" He stared at the ceiling. "I never thought you would want me the way I did. Still doesn't feel quite real."

"Book—"

"But I still wanted to be good for you."

"Hmm." Nile put her hand on his cheek and turned his head until he was forced to look at her. "Buy me dinner?"

"I knew you were only with me for my money."

"Yep," Nile agreed as she leaned in to kiss him. "Just that," she whispered against his lips.

"Nile," he moaned, his voice scratchy and rumbling, and god he was hot and being wanted so badly was thrilling and she nipped at his lower lip and then he was on his side, his hand cupping her jaw as he tried to devour her. His tongue slid across hers and when did she end up on her back, pressed into the mattress? Fuck, she could die like this, with Booker kissing her like—oh god, if he had half as much enthusiasm downstairs as he did upstairs...

He pulled back and she took a deep breath, dazed.

"I think I promised you dinner," he said.

"Shit," she breathed. Her entire body had other ideas. She could just ask. He would do it. She was almost certain she could ask him to go down on her and he would without expecting reciprocation, but that wasn't how she wanted their first time to go so she sat up, shook herself a little, and said, "Okay, yeah. Dinner. Sleep. Beach or something."

"Or something," Booker said, but he pulled her to her feet.

Self-imposed sexual frustration was so stupid, Nile thought later, lying next to a warm mountain of boyfriend, trying to sleep so they could have very good, non-lazy sex in the morning. Thank god they hadn't added wine to dinner. Wine always made her legs and bits tingle and, frankly, they did not need the assistance. She rolled over at least twenty times before she managed to drift off.

Sunlight filtered through the curtains, waking Nile first. Booker was still asleep, his hair falling over his eyes as his chest rose and fell. He was so cute. She thought about waking him up, but she felt a little gross and decided to brush her teeth and rinse off in the shower first. He was awake when she came out in nothing but a towel, and she seriously considered dropping it when he came over to kiss her forehead, but he went into the bathroom too, so she got dressed instead. Maybe they should get some breakfast.

"Hey," she called through the door. "You want to go get breakfast?"

"Yeah," he said as he came out, pulling a fresh shirt over his head, and that was a lot of bare skin and ah, yeah, that wasn't going to happen.

"Nope, changed my mind," she said, catching the hem of his shirt.

"Oh." He grinned and raised his hands to let her pull it over his head. Fuck. Skin everywhere. Muscles everywhere, and all hers to get her hands on.

He was all hers, and—

And she was thirty-six and he was two hundred sixty years old and he had life experience she didn't and—

When he first died he was older than she was _now_ and—

And the longest relationship she'd ever had was two years and two months and that one had ended in fights and—

And she'd abandoned her mom and little brother and what was she _thinking_ getting into a relationship now and—

And she was the kind of person who could walk away from her family and join an entirely new one and _lie_ to them and fake her own death and what if she did that to him and—

"Nile?"

"I—uh—"

And why the fuck was she having this freakout now, this ridiculous, pointless panic over—

"Sorry, I—remember when you freaked out and it was stupid? I'm having that."

And what if she broke him, because it wouldn't be the first time a partner destroyed him. God, and _he_ was worried about fucking it up? She was a tenth of his age! She was stupid, she'd just gotten him brutally attacked on a job, and—

"Tell me."

"No, it's stupid. Forget it and take my clothes off." They wanted each other, they didn't really have other options, and if she could just shake off these dumb nerves by getting him in her, everything would work out.

Booker sat down on the edge of the bed, and Nile seized the opportunity to climb into his lap. He was going to behave and she didn't want him to. Not right now. It wasn't that she couldn't talk about feelings, it was just that sex was on the table and so much easier than that.

He wasn't going to make it that easy. "When uh, when I first saw you," he said, his thumb running along the spot on her neck where she'd been ripped open and killed, "I loved you. I was in too deep but the one thing I wanted was for you not to hate me. Because you should have. And you didn't."

"I love you too." She took a deep breath. "I want to do this right, and…" She swallowed, his fingers still on her throat. "…what if I don't?"

He didn't laugh at her, even though he should, because two days ago she'd told him off for the exact same shit. "We'll work it out. You're a good person, you're kind and thoughtful and brave, and Nile, you didn't give up on me when you barely knew me and I got everyone I loved kidnapped and tortured. I won't give up on you for anything less than that. That's a promise. Besides, you're not as stupid as I am, so I don't think it will come up."

"You're not stupid." Hell, he'd just soothed all of her fears in a few sentences without her even explaining them. "Shut up."

His hand slid over her shoulder and around her back. She melted against him, nestling her face against his neck. "Do you want to get breakfast now?" he asked.

But he was here and his body was hot against hers and they were both stupid if they thought they could scare each other away. "No."

"No?"

She splayed her hand on his chest and pushed him down. "Nope. I've been waiting way too long."

"I think you're ri-ght," he agreed, his breath catching as she grabbed his wrists. There were a lot of places she wanted his hands to go. He raised an eyebrow expectantly. "Well?"

"Well what, Monsieur Bossy? Give me a sec, I'm deciding."

"I'm not—I'm not bossy," he grumbled. "Didn't you want—"

She put his hands on her boobs. "Yeah, I do want my clothes off," she finished, "but you can feel me up first."

"Feel you up? English should be banned," Booker said, but he squeezed lightly as she pulled up her shirt.

"Okay, romance me with your own tongue, Sébastien."

He smirked and she instantly regretted her choice of words. "I'd like to," he said in French and she shivered.

" _In_ your t—your language—yeah, okay." Maybe not so much regret. He dragged her shirt off and reached around to fiddle with her bra. "You need help back there?"

"Maybe," Booker admitted. "I've never messed with one from this direction. I can't even find the damn—"

"Might be because it's front clasp."

"Of course it is." Impatient now, he popped the clasp with no trouble and got his hands on her. God, finally. Big soft palms and nimble fingers. She closed her eyes and sighed. The first time was never the best, but the dissolution of the standard boundaries was nice.

Then he lightly pinched her left nipple between his knuckles and her hips jerked forward like she'd been shocked. Might not be the best, but it was still going to be fucking awesome.

"Are you going to stay up there all day?"

"You gonna stay down there all day?" she retorted.

"If you want me to."

"If I tell you to, word is."

His cheeks flushed. "Andy?"

"Maybe."

"Okay. Tell me."

So that advice was correct. She wondered how far it went—how far she wanted it to go. "Take off your pants."

As soon as she got off of him, he scrambled to get naked. Hmm. On the one hand, sometimes it was nice to be pushed into the wall and pounded into oblivion. On the other hand, she could probably just tell him to do that, so this thing seemed like a win. As he kicked his jeans off, she pulled her own down and shrugged off her open bra.

Nile wanted to look, because yum, but she also wanted to touch, and that desire won out. She pressed her whole body against his. Fuck, it'd been so long since she'd been this close to anyone. He was warm, hot, muscles all healthily padded but by god there were a lot of them, he was half-hard against her, his hands fluttering down her sides and across her back, tapping, touching, trying to find a place to go. He nosed at her cheek, so she turned and caught his mouth in a kiss and tried to decide what to do with her own hands as they found a rhythm with their tongues.

His ass was bigger than her hands but she grabbed as much as she could anyway. He moaned and rolled his hips against her. "You like that, huh," she murmured against his mouth. Her fingers inched inward, drawing a shuddering inhale from him. "I like a lot of things." He nipped at her lip. "I didn't prepare for that, though."

It was a bad time to punch the air and celebrate that she finally had a boyfriend who wanted to get fucked. There would be time enough for all of that later. Right now… "I have a thought. You already said you'd like it."

"What is it?" he whispered.

She prepared her line and hoped it wasn't too corny. "Romance me with your tongue, baby."

He smiled. His fingers paused in their restless journey to tighten on her back.

"And I'll be good to you, too, I promise."

At that he whimpered and dropped his head to suck on her neck. He was a little overzealous, just on the edge of pain, but she let her head fall back to give him more room. She had some notion that they should slow down, but fuck, her body ached for more.

He spared her from having to decide anything by sinking down, trailing kisses along her collarbone and then lower to get his mouth on her breast. Nile twitched as his tongue flicked against her nipple, her nerves lighting up. She was going to lose her balance. "Bed," she breathed, dragging him over so she could get her ass on the edge of it.

"Mm," Booker agreed, looking both very silly and very hot with a mouthful of boob, his hand sliding up her thigh. His thumb was so fucking close, just another couple inches and—

The bastard moved his hand away and dropped all the way to his knees, gazing up at her all moony. "What?" she demanded. Come _on_ , she was already wet and hungry.

"Just feeling lucky."

"Yeah," Nile sighed. "Me too." She bit her lip. "You're killing me."

"Oh, sorry, boss," he said in that low, soft purr of his, eased both hands up toward her center, and she was just going to die like this. Ten years ago, she had not envisioned snagging a tall, built, sensitive man who called her "boss" and wanted to be ordered around in bed—and that was just the surface stuff. His thumbs gently nudged her hair to the sides and _come on—_

Then he ducked his head and licked her, flat up the center, flicking the tip of his tongue off her clit. She let out a soft _oh_ and fell back. He laughed, a low, pleased chuckle in his throat. Well. That sounded like a challenge. She could meet it later. She was going to make him moan. He pushed her thighs further apart and nibbled on her folds and she reached for his hair but hang on, dude was in his forties kneeling naked on a bare wood floor, that couldn't be good even if his body could fix it quickly. She squirmed up the bed enough to grab a pillow and tried to give it to him but he was getting his tongue inside her now and her brain was too preoccupied to explain anything and only when he stopped and raised his head did she realize she was bonking him with the pillow. "Am I doing something wrong?"

She strained her neck to look down at him. "No, god no. It's for your knees."

Booker looked unreasonably touched as he situated the pillow. "Thanks."

Nile got the other. "And one for me," she said, putting it under her head. "I want to look at you."

His pretty, just slightly asymmetrical eyes widened a little as he lifted her right leg over his shoulder. Fuck, she needed him back down there right now, she was aching for his mouth. Throbbing, who gave a shit if it was cliche.

"Hey," he said, and oh, she did _not_ like the grin he was wearing.

"What?"

He ran a hand up the underside of her thigh and smirked. "I need two plural nouns and an adverb."

"I'm going to kill you," she threatened, but he looked so pleased with with himself that she couldn't help giggling.

"Just like this? With your thighs?"

"You'd like that too much, I thought you were supposed to multita—oh…"

He dove back in and slid his tongue inside her, and suddenly she didn't have any more threats to make. His hand squeezed her ass, his fingers drifting lightly into her cleft, but only enough to tease. God, it was a lot, all hot and wet and good, nerves on fire. She wove her fingers into his soft hair and tugged a little. He moaned and pushed his face against her. She _squeaked_ , and it should've been embarrassing, but it was just Booker, and he loved her, and sex noises were weird. She wasn't performing. Booker drew back a little, moving to lazy, slow licks, and Nile closed her eyes and sighed. He could speed this up if he just focused on her clit, but he didn't. He was sweet. She loosened her grip on his hair and massaged his scalp with her fingertips. He deserved good things.

His mouth was delicious but gentle and pleasant until it wasn't, until his fingers pushed inside her and she'd never been very sensitive to g-spot stimulation but it didn't matter because he had his lips around her clitoris and _fuck_ , she gasped and pulled his hair again as he sucked hard, his tongue circling and there were sounds falling from her mouth. She hadn't realized how close she was, it'd come so gradually until now. "Book," she moaned, helplessly grinding against him, and he made the prettiest sound as his tongue swiped over her, hard, _right_ _…there…_ and she shuddered, lost, as pleasure crashed over her in waves.

Trembling and panting, Nile opened her eyes to see Booker looking up at her through his lashes, softly lapping at her with little kitten-licks. "Come here," she whispered, still shivery and desperate to ground herself, and he obeyed.

"I'm here." He joined her on the bed and got his arms around her.

She took a deep breath, sinking into the afterglow now that her body was against his. "Holy shit, dude," she muttered, not even caring how stupid and unromantic it sounded.

"English should be banned," he sighed again. "But I am not too rusty, I gather."

"Nope," Nile said, popping the P. "We're not done, either. Give me a minute, don't go anywhere."

"Yes ma'am." He kissed her forehead all wet and sweet and it was almost too much.

Nile had spent a lot of her life being strong and it was hard even now to admit to herself how much that was factoring into her need to have a pair of strong arms around her keeping her close, keeping her safe. She just needed a minute.

Booker rubbed her back. "If you want, we can go get breakfast."

She licked his neck. "What did I _just_ say?"

He snorted.

"What?"

"Sorry," he said. "It's just funny."

Hmm. What did that mean, exactly? "What is funny? I thought you…"

"I like orders in bed and you can push me around if you want but uh, playacting, whatever it is that people do, it's—I can't take it seriously, sorry. Sex is funny! How does anyone get around that?"

That was fair, and also a relief, because if he wanted serious BDSM play she would not even know where to begin or if she wanted to. "Oh, okay."

"We can talk about it and plan things and whatever is good, I just can't overthink it. Although…" He tried to sound more serious. "If it's important to you, I could, uh—"

"Oh, no worries. I'll just return all the—um." What paraphernalia was she blanking on. "Collars? Whips?"

At that he really laughed. "You can keep the uh—shit, what are they called? Dildo harness thing."

"Strap-ons?"

"Okay."

"If you want," she murmured, lifting her head to get a look at his adorably rosy-cheeked face. "Aw. Are you gonna blush when I actually get one and use it?" It was a half-serious question, but she was delighted to see him squirm.

"Yeah, probably," he admitted.

"Mm. Can't wait." Nile kissed Booker, tasting herself on his tongue. He was so beautifully patient. He deserved something for that. "Let me up," she whispered against his lips. He sighed and complied. She reached down, trailing her fingers along his hip and inward to take him in hand. His breath caught. He was half-filled out already but he came to attention quickly with her hand around him.

There was something unfamiliar about the feel of him, but whatever. She crawled down the bed and now it was her turn to kneel on the pillow. He scooted forward, propping himself up on his elbows, and stared at her, his eyes wide and needy. She hadn't given a blowjob in a really long time. Eh. Probably like riding a bike. She gave him a grin and turned her gaze downward and oh wait—hold on—this was new.

"Um," Nile said, trying not to sound very uncool. "Wait, how do I—hmm, how does this work?"

"A…a penis?"

"No, sorry, I'm American, I've only fooled around with American guys."

"What? What does that mean?" His cute gruff little accent was coming out and she failed to suppress a giggle. "What are you laughing at? Do Americans have bald eagles down there?"

She cackled. She didn't mean to be mean. Cis men were so touchy about their dicks. "It's okay, I'll figure it out."

"What are you figuring out?" he pleaded.

"Foreskin," she said, slowly pulling it back.

"Oh," Booker said, relieved, and then she sucked the head into her mouth and he echoed _oh_ but this time it was a little gasp.

Okay, it couldn't be that much different. Slightly stronger taste, softer skin, things moved smoother. She tongued the vein under the head, drawing a groan from him. He was so beautiful like this, surrendering to her, his lips parted, eyes drifting shut. This was fun. Nile pushed the skin back up, half covering his head and snaked her tongue in between, circling. He made a pretty sound and murmured, "Yes, yes, oh…"

Bam, good, figured out. She kept it up for a little while, getting used to the weight and size of him and the way he shivered and reached for her. She'd never been particularly excited for blowjobs in the past, but Booker was deliciously responsive, and maybe it was just because she was breaking a ten plus year dry spell, but there was something comforting and hot about the velvety feel on her tongue.

His fingers scrabbled at the sheet and he bit at his other hand, trying to keep quiet. With her free hand, she gripped his fidgety one. The tension in his fingers melted away as she stilled it. She slipped off of him. "I want to hear you, Book," she said, the tip of her tongue flicking against him. His hips jerked forward and he let his hand fall to the side. Satisfied, she ducked her head back down and sucked, stroking him steadily with her hand and tonguing the vein. He moaned low and needy. She sucked harder. A noisy man in bed was a fucking blessing. If she weren't still oversensitive she'd sit on him and squeeze him until he popped, but never mind. Time for that later.

He was tensing now, controlling his hips—good boy—so she went faster with her tongue and hand.

"Nile," he gasped. "Nile, I'm cl—I'm going to—you need to—oh, _oh_ …"

She didn't let up. So the stuff was a little bitter. Who cared. As Booker's body went taut, she looked up and locked eyes with him. His mouth was round and pretty, his eyes lost in pleasure, and then his head fell back and a salty, mildly bitter taste hit her tongue. Yeah. Definitely worth it to feel him spasm as she swallowed and sucked him clean.

He looked adrift now, a little blissed out and a little confused. She hopped onto the bed beside him and wrapped her whole body around him. "You on Earth, baby?"

"Yeah," he breathed. "Just went to the moon for a moment there." He nuzzled her cheek. His beard tickled.

"Let's order breakfast in," Nile suggested. "Someday."

"Sounds good," he slurred. "You're amazing."

"Thought you said English should be banned," she teased.

"It should be," Booker agreed, and added something in another language, not one she knew.

"What was that?"

"You are magnificent." He kissed the corner of her mouth.

"Occitan?"

"Oui, ma chérie."

"Are you trying to seduce me with French, Book?"

"Yes," he said, attempting to look serious. "Is it working?"

"You already romanced me with your tongue, you ridiculous man," she laughed, poking him.

A grin lit up his face as he rolled them over, pinned her to the bed, and gazed down at her. "I can't rest on my laurels."

"Then get me breakfast, baby," she said. "And kiss me. Wait, I probably taste bad."

"Don't care," he said, and he kissed her.

They ordered room service for breakfast, put on bathrobes to be polite to the concierge, fed each other strawberries and pastries and shoved cream in each other's faces and licked it off until they were kissing fiercely. She climbed into his lap and threw off her robe. "Got any energy left?" she whispered in his ear, undoing his sash.

"So much," he replied, reaching between her legs. His fingers trailed between her folds, making her shiver. "Still wet."

"Still open, maybe." Nile shoved his bathrobe off his shoulders. "Or, you know, again."

Booker pushed his fingers inside her and kissed her neck. "Tell me what you want." His thumb slid through her slick and skirted her clit. She jolted a little.

"Is that two?"

"Yeah."

"Try three."

Sex was this, sex was working it out and trying to make logistical talk sound sexy and sex was also three fingers sliding inside her comfortably because sometimes foreplay half an hour ago was good enough and she _really_ wanted to know what that lovely velvety uncut dick would feel like inside her.

"Is this good?" he said.

"Get in me," she ordered.

"Yeah, yes, here, let's, uh…" Booker shed the rest of the bathrobe and Nile got up on her knees. He angled himself toward her, and she lowered herself to rub against the head. He hummed in pleasure. She kissed his nose and sank down onto him.

He wasn't porn-star huge, but he was six foot two with the cock to match and _fuck_ he felt nice. They sat there just for a minute to soak in the connection until Booker said, "Do you want—like this, or do you want me on top?"

"I can…"

Yeah, actually. She did want him on top. She really wanted to get fucked into the mattress and she felt a little guilty about leaning back and letting him do the work, but he was asking.

"Yep. You on top." She slipped off him and flopped back into the pillows. So it was the standard, vanilla position. There was a reason it was popular. He looked a little taken aback by her haste, so she beckoned him with both hands and a wicked smile.

He was so quick to obey. That was really working for her. She spread her legs wide as he crawled up her body. They both reached to finesse things down there and their hands knocked into each other and they giggled but she got her hand on him and aimed properly and now he was pushing back into her and _yes_ it was much better from this position. He radiated warmth, bracketing her on both sides with his arms, his breath mingling with hers. This was taking too long, she needed more, she needed him to fucking move.

Nile clenched around him. Booker gasped, a sharp little choked-off inhale, and rolled his hips into her. She grabbed his waist and as much of his ass as she could. He took the hint, pulling back and thrusting into her. If there was any difference at all, it was maybe that the glide was a little smoother, but regardless, it was good, he was good, she needed more, her body ached for more, more.

She could tell him, or…. She licked two fingers and got them back on his ass, crawled inward through soft hairs to brush against his pucker, and he whimpered.

"Harder," she whispered, dipping one finger just barely past his rim. He groaned and obeyed, biting at her neck as she met his thrusts. The clench and relax of his muscles under her fingers, the power in his hips, and all for her, only her, obeying her, it was almost enough to—

He balanced himself on one arm and reached down to touch her. His thumb slid across her clit, pushing her toward the edge as he pounded into her. Nonsense fell from her lips, just a stream of _oh_ and _yes_ and _Book_ now, losing herself to the connection and sheer pleasure.

"Nile," he choked out, his voice high and breathy and desperate. "Nile, I, do you want me to, I'm—I can't—"

"Inside me," she breathed, and he whined and went faster, filling her, giving her desperately needed friction. Nile had a beautiful, powerful man who only wanted to please her and that alone was so heady she felt herself going tense, taut, almost at the edge. His thumb pushed just a little harder and she soared over, gasping _yes yes,_ her climax crashing over her as Booker moaned and slammed into her two, three, four more times and went still.

Silence fell except for their quiet panting. He slipped out of her, his face pressed into her neck. "Hey," she mumbled. He grunted. "You're kind of heavy, Book."

"Sorry," he croaked into her throat. He rolled on his side and slithered his arms around her, squeezing her tight.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Mmhm." But his voice cracked. "Just need a minute." His mouth and beard tickled her collarbone.

"I got you, baby, I'm here." She wasn't sure what was happening, but he was clinging to her and she could wait it out. She kissed his forehead and petted his hair and slowly he relaxed.

At last he raised his head and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry, I…" He shook his head and sniffled. God, he'd been crying.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just a little overwhelmed, I guess." He sat up and blinked, dripping a lone tear onto his eyelashes. "It's me, not you. That was amazing."

"Yeah. Yeah, it was."

Booker reached for a surviving strawberry, looked at his fingers, and thought better of it. "I swear I don't usually cry after sex." He winced. "Mostly."

Nile still had a clean hand. Ish. She snagged a berry and removed the top with a nail. "I have been with enough men who wouldn't admit to having feelings for love or money, but I'm sure as hell not with them anymore." He opened his mouth to talk and she popped the berry in it. "Book, if you cried after sex every time, I would seriously be okay with that."

"I was getting one for you," he protested through a mouthful of strawberry. "And I won't."

"Crying is actually permitted under our union charter, so, yeah."

"Ah." He sniffled again with a little smile. "Nile, I still don't think I deserve you," he said, looking down. "But I'm going to try very hard to." He looked back up at her, his blue eyes red and sincere.

She brushed the tears away from his cheeks. "It's the same shit fucking with both of us."

"Yeah." He sighed. "Promises we couldn't keep to people we loved. Not your fault, though."

"Not yours either, baby."

Booker reached for the berries again and picked up the bowl to offer her some. "But we're here now. I think, I've _been_ thinking that means something, I think—" He furrowed his brow. "The things beyond our control will make our commitment to each other more…more, hm, what's the word, more feasible than to the people we had to leave behind. Right?"

"But we still have to choose it. Like the others do."

"I will. I do. I am."

 _That's like three different wedding vows,_ she avoided saying. "Yeah. So do I." She took the last berry. "Great. I want to go to the beach before we get stuck in the hundredth serious conversation of the week."

"Oh, god. You have no idea how many are in your future. Just wait until you're two hundred. They are never ending. I think Nicky starts them for fun."

"Can't wait. Uh, I need to go clean up. I am leaking."

"Ah, sorry. Want a hand?"

"Better not," Nile said, taking a bite of the strawberry. "I actually want to go to the beach sometime today." She started to put the other half in her mouth, paused, held it in her teeth, and leaned in to offer it to Booker. He took it, getting a kiss in around the berry, that moony smile back as he ate it. "Be right back," she said.

She rinsed off again in the shower, cleaning up the mess and the sweat that hadn't dried yet. It was nice to be able to walk into the shared bedroom drying off, using her towel instead of hiding in it. Sure, Booker had seen her naked a few times before this, but only in necessary situations. Now they didn't have to worry about the line.

He cleaned up while she put on a swimsuit and clothes over that, and he came back still gloriously bare. She whistled and he shook his head at her, amused. She lounged on the bed and watched him dress. In mid-thigh swim shorts and an extra bracelet, he looked extra European, at least to Nile's semi-acclimated sensibilities.

Cute.

They took a bus to one of the quieter beaches and walked barefoot in the sea, fingers laced together. The sun shone on the white sand and winked off the blue water. Booker tripped on a hole in the sand and accidentally splashed Nile.

"Excuse me," she said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, your highness," he said, and he kicked up a bigger splash.

"You don't seem very sorry," she said.

"Please forgive me," Booker said, dropping to his knees.

"I'll think about it," Nile said, and she splashed him. He blinked the water out of his eyes and threw it right back at her. "I'm thinking harder about it," she informed him, and she pushed him down. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into the sparkling warm water with him. "No!" she shrieked. "My hair!"

"I know," he promised, holding her well clear of the danger zone.

God, she loved him. "Come here," she said, pulling him in close, kneeling waist-deep in warm, lazy water. This was the best. This was security and love without going through dates, with the getting to know you period long over.

Also, damn, he looked good in a wet shirt.

_I don't want this. I don't want any of it. There isn't one good thing in any of this,_ she'd said to Andy ten years ago outside a church in France. Seemed a lifetime ago.

She still missed Mom and Michael, and she probably always would, but she loved the new people she had, and right now, with Booker's arms around her waist, his wet hair soaking the top of her tank top, the thought of living a few hundred more years didn't seem dark at all. At the very least, she had one extremely good thing.

Her good thing nestled against her chest. "What are you thinking about?" she asked, running her fingers through his hair.

"The future," Booker said, sounding almost surprised. "I want to see it with you."

She looked around at the beach, at the world. At the chattering ibises flying overhead. At the high tide line that must be creeping up every year. More than ever, the future of the planet was an unknown. The future of an immortal very much so. But hey, a good union can get a girl through a lot of bullshit.

"Me too, baby," Nile said. "Me too."

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr, come hang out: [agirlwithachakram](https://agirlwithachakram.tumblr.com).
> 
> I also have a [Booker-centric fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25846594) that's as canon compliant as I can make it based on reading summaries of the comics, detailing his life before he fully joined the Guard. Pretty much anything else I write about him draws from that.


End file.
